Eye For An Eye
by stranded chess piece
Summary: Ash Spenser's past catches up with him. Clay pays the price.
1. Chapter 1

**I swore I wouldn't write another multi-chapter fic again, but ... here I am, with this idea not leaving me alone. I can't make any promises with this one, as free time is hard to come by at the moment. But I figure I'll slowly chip away at it. It's planned for about 7ish chapters, but I'll see how I go. This one is set in Season 3, after Unbecoming An Officer. Usual disclaimers apply. And once again, a reminder that I know absolutely nothing about anything, so apologies for any medical inconsistencies, and if I stretch reality for the sake of the story. Thanks for reading :)**

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Clouds rolled across the sky, sagging with the threat of rain. The wind was up, grabbing golden leaves from the trees, tossing them about. It had been a bumpy landing back at base, and the late afternoon felt unsettled – very much a reflection of Clay's current mood.

As he turned onto his street, he found himself scowling at the few light raindrops that blew against his windshield. It felt like the sky was tormenting him with the threat of a downpour - most likely holding off until he got out of his car.

There hadn't been anything remarkable about Bravo's recent op in Haiti. They had successfully taken out the arms dealer who'd been hiding there. Things had run to plan, for once. The only casualties were Clay's ears, after listening to Sonny bang on about how much he hated humidity, for twenty hours straight.

Clay's bad mood wasn't a result of his spin up to Haiti. Nor was it residual heartbreak, left over from Rebecca ditching him three weeks ago. (He'd moved on from that, for the most part - thanks to his repaired friendship with Sonny, and a couple of wild nights on the town with the Texan picking up the bar tab.)

Clay's stormy mood was courtesy of the one and only Ash Spenser; the poor excuse for a man who still dared to call himself a father.

Two days ago, Clay had run into Franklin, AKA Alpha Three, who had revealed that he'd overheard Ash at a bar the night before, bragging after one too many drinks that his son was a SEAL and that with some luck he would get some content for his new book. The older Spenser had also admitted that he was glad for the publicity he'd received in the wake of Swanny's death.

Clay's initial response had, understandably, been explosive rage. He'd stormed into the cage room and had proceeded to pound the shit out of the wall until his knuckles had bled. Thankfully, Trent had intervened. And then Sonny and Jason had talked some sense into him, arguing that the walls had done nothing wrong and he should save it for the punching bag.

But it was Clay's own damned fault for having given Ash another chance. He'd nearly believed that the man had a soul. Clay felt embarrassed by how gullible he'd been, genuinely thinking that his father had cared about Swanny, about fighting for justice – about _his own son_.

It was a mistake, and it wouldn't happen again.

Approaching his apartment building, Clay caught sight of a familiar figure, and his knuckles tightened on the wheel as he slowed.

Ash was leaning against the hood of his truck, arms folded over his chest. He lifted his eyes as Clay's car approached, catching and holding the younger man's gaze.

Clay debated whether to turn around and head to Sonny's. Or if he should mow the asshole down.

With a muttered curse, he continued to his parking space instead. He stomped on the brake and cut the engine.

For a moment Clay just sat, breaths coming jaggedly through his nose, anger climbing into his chest and locking his jaw. He was tired. He didn't want a fight. He just wanted his father gone from his life. Was that too much to ask? Blowing out an unsteady breath, he popped his door.

Cold wind nipped at his cheeks, and Clay snagged his pack from the trunk. Perhaps he could just ignore Ash. He attempted to make a b-line for the building.

But Ash was quick to intercept.

"I thought I told you to stay the fuck away from me," Clay grit, readjusting his pack and continuing towards the entry.

Ash kept pace, threw his arms wide. "Without any explanation?" His tone was heavy with frustration.

Clay halted, spun with a glare. "I don't owe you an explanation."

Ash narrowed his eyes, his expression flickering with confusion, before shifting to anger. "Most kids speak to their parents with more respect," he growled.

It took all of Clay's strength not to throw a punch at the man's jaw. "I'm not a child," he spat. "And what the fuck would you know about respect?"

Wind whipped around them. A leaf caught against Ash's jacket sleeve, and he angrily brushed it off.

Fat rain drops began to fall.

Clay felt himself trembling. He resisted the urge to look away from Ash's now frosty gaze, reminding himself that he wasn't five years old, and Ash's threatening look held no power over him. Not any more. He pulled his shoulders straighter, set his jaw. "Next time you feel tempted to tell strangers of my profession," he warned, "and act like I'm a source of information for your damned books, you'd better bite your tongue."

Ash seemed caught off guard for a moment, but quickly wiped the surprise away. Instead he squared his shoulders. "Or what?" He snarled.

Clay didn't flinch. _Or I'll cut your tongue out_, he wanted to reply. But, wisely, he bit down against the words, preventing them from passing his lips.

The older man arched a brow, scoffed mockingly.

Clay held his ground. "You need to stay the hell away from me."

Ash leaned closer, menacingly. "I don't take orders from you."

Clay once again resisted the urge to lash out.

Tense silence lingered, the air between them charged.

A firm hand upon Clay's shoulder interrupted the moment, and he snapped his gaze around to see Derek, dressed in running gear, shirt damp with sweat.

The older SEAL pinned Ash with a threatening look. "Is there something I can help you with, Ashland?" He asked, tone steady.

Ash straightened, throwing one last withering glance at Clay. "No," he muttered. "I was just leaving."

Clay's breaths hitched, but the reassuring weight of Derek's hand helped steady his churning emotions. He was grateful for his neighbor's sudden appearance. Clay wasn't sure he would have been able to hold off decking Ash, and he would bet that's what his father had wanted. It would have made a good news headline, after all.

Ash turned stiffly, stalking back down the path towards his truck. "I have a right to come and see my son," he threw bitterly over his shoulder.

Clay chose not to respond.

"C'mon, man," Derek said gently, coaxing him towards the doorway.

Clay hesitated. His bruised knuckles still tingled with the urge to punch his father. He shoved them into his pockets.

Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled.

Swallowing his bubble of anger, Clay readjusted the pack on his shoulder, and followed Alpha Two.

Once they were out of the weather, Derek faced Clay. "Franklin told me what he overheard, in the bar the other night." His tone was laced with sympathy. "You know, my father wasn't the greatest, either. But once I joined DEVGRU, none of that mattered anymore."

Clay felt a pang of sadness, remembering his late mentor's words. "Let me guess," he sighed. "Team became all the family you needed."

Derek offered a small smile, a clipped nod. "Damn straight."

They moved towards the stairs. No fancy elevator here. Clay had never minded, but today his pack felt extra heavy, his whole body weary.

"Want to come in for a bit, take your mind off Ash?" Derek offered, voice echoing in the stairwell alongside their footfalls.

Clay was grateful for his brother's concern. Derek might be on a different team, but he'd looked out for Clay from the moment the younger man had moved in across the hall. "It's okay," he replied. "I'm pretty knackered."

Derek patted his shoulder as they reached the top, gave it a gentle squeeze. "Well, you know where I am."

Clay followed the older man into their corridor. "Thanks," he said, tone genuine.

Derek fished his keys from his pocket. "How was Haiti?" He asked, changing the subject.

Clay sighed, fumbling with his own keys. "Uneventful."

Derek tilted his head, quirked a lip. "Uneventful isn't a bad thing."

Clay huffed a laugh. "It is when you need a distraction from Sonny's incessant whining."

That drew a chuckle from Derek. "Sonny? Complaining?"

Clay shoved his key into the lock, unbolted his door and shouldered it open. He paused, the humor dropping from his features. "Hey," he said, drawing Derek's attention. "Thanks. For intervening back there. I appreciate it."

Derek gave a nod. "Get some rest," he suggested gently.

Clay didn't need an invitation. His limbs felt like they were about to drop off. Letting out a breath, he gave a tired salute and stepped inside his apartment.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

From outside the apartment building, rain fell harder. It ran off lawns and into gutters, gathering in rushing streams and filling stormwater drains.

Mateo Garcia sat quietly in the driver's seat of his van, staring through a rain streaked window at the vacant parking space left behind by Ash Spenser.

What luck, he mused, that Ash had led him straight to Clay.

What luck, that Ash had run his mouth off in the bar a couple of nights before, admitting that he had a son.

What luck, that Mateo had flicked on the television a month ago, catching the tail-end of an interview Ash had given about his plans for his new book.

Mateo had recognized the soulless bastard straight away. Ash's face was etched painfully into his memory, haunting his dreams. Now, finally, after all these years, he had a name, and a way to find the man. It was almost too good to be true. It was like the spirits of his wife and son were smiling down upon him, putting him in the right place at the right time. And the pieces of his plan were slotting together like a beautiful jigsaw puzzle.

Tears pricked Mateo's eyes, and he closed them briefly against the burn.

Twelve years ago, in a small village in Colombia, Ash Spenser had killed Mateo's only son. And the fallout from that earth-shattering day had created an all-encompassing black hole in Mateo's life - the same black hole that had claimed the life of his beautiful wife, who had succumbed to her grief not long after their son had been lost. The same black hole that had carved out Mateo's sense of having something left to live for in the world.

The only thing that had kept the Colombian breathing through all these years, was the hope that one day he would be able to avenge his family.

Now, it seemed, that blessed day had finally arrived.

And what luck that he could not only rid the world of Ash Spenser, but also pay the man back by making _him_ watch helplessly, as _h__is_ only son died.

An eye for an eye, thought Mateo, lip curling into a satisfied smile.

He would have to hurry, if he was going to make his plan work. Ash was due to give an interview at a local radio station the next morning, and then was due in New York for a talk show that night.

Popping open the glove compartment, he inspected his tranquilizer gun. Ash was wiry, tall but lacking muscle. The younger Spenser, on the other hand, was solidly built, and would probably require a higher dose. He hadn't planned on bagging both of them. Thankfully, he'd come over-prepared, and had brought extra.

Another smile twitched across his lips.

This was going to be fun.


	2. Chapter 2

**I had this chapter almost done, so I've finished it off. Thanks so much for all the kind words! This fic is a little out of my comfort zone, so I'm not feeling overly confident with it. I imagine the next chapter will take longer. Thanks so much for reading :)**

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Sonny eyed the clock. The game was starting in ten minutes, and Clay still hadn't rocked up.

Sonny had invited his little brother around as a distraction from the latest Ash-related drama; to get Clay's mind away from the hurt and betrayal - and, for himself, to prevent him from hunting Ash down and beating the shit out of him.

Snagging his phone, Sonny found Clay's number and hit dial. He'd already sent two texts, and the lack of response unsettled him.

Clay's phone rang out, going to voicemail.

Sonny drummed the fingers of his free hand against his kitchen counter top. "Goldilocks," he stated, after the beep. "Cutting it a bit fine, don't you think? I'll forgive you if you're still in bed, but only if she was worth it." He paused, stilling his fingers and curling them into a fist. "You've got ten minutes, okay? Turn up. Or call me back."

Sonny ended the call, threw his phone over to the couch.

It wasn't like Clay to be late. Most likely scenario was that the kid had slept in. They had all been spent yesterday afternoon when they'd got back from Haiti.

But the minutes ticked by, and with two minutes to spare until game time, Sonny couldn't shake his uneasiness

It was completely unfounded, of course. Clay probably had a very good reason for being late. The annoying little turd would probably waltz through the door right as the game started, teasing Sonny for his needless worry.

Once again, Sonny snagged his phone. Pressed dial. Listened as Clay's phone rang out and went to voicemail. Sighing, he waited for the beep. "Clay, you said you'd be here an hour ago. I haven't heard from you. You're not answering your phone, and I'm starting to get just a little worried here. Yeah, yeah, you can laugh at me later. Maybe I'm getting jittery in my old age. Just …" He chewed his lip. "Call me back, would you?"

Once again, Sonny ended the call.

The small seed of worry that had sprouted in his gut grew a little more. Clay had been looking forward to this morning. And as far as Sonny knew, the kid hadn't planned on heading out last night.

Sonny grabbed the remote, flicked the television on.

The last two minutes went by, and the game began.

Still no Clay.

Five minutes passed.

Then ten.

Sonny paced, unable to sit down. He took a beer from the fridge - but ended up putting it back again.

"Okay," he breathed, once the game had been running for fifteen minutes, grabbing his phone and repeating the process of calling Clay.

The phone rang out once again, which did nothing to settle Sonny's nerves.

_Beep –_

"Listen up, you little turd," Sonny growled, turning off the television and snagging his keys. "You can give me shit for this, once you actually call me back."

He yanked open his front door, hoping to see Clay there. But the corridor was quiet, and empty. He stepped out into it, locking his door behind him.

"I'm coming to you, most likely to drag your sorry ass out of bed." He stomped down the corridor towards the stairs. "We can finish watching the game at your place. But you'd better have beer."

He entered the stairwell, jogged down the stairs. "And you're ordering pizza." He nearly collided with one of his neighbors, coming around the landing. Muttered a quick apology. "And garlic bread," he added, descending the last flight.

Pulling the phone from his ear, Sonny paused before reaching the stairwell door. He ended the call and shouldered the door open.

He'd never been one to worry. Not when he was a kid. Not during his adult years.

Not until Bravo had adopted Clay Spenser.

Al-Qa'im had amplified that worry, Mumbai had built on it, and Manila had sent it out of the ball park. Sonny one hundred percent blamed the kid for his new-found anxiety. And right now, it was churning his gut, growing in intensity with every minute that Clay didn't return his call.

Climbing into his truck, Sonny made a mental note that he would most likely kick himself once he was at Clay's, and had found his little brother to be safe and well. He told himself he was being ridiculous.

But still, the bad feeling lingered, like a rock in his gut.

And Sonny found himself peeling away from his apartment, stepping on the gas a little harder than necessary, heading for Clay's.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

The first thing Sonny noticed, as he pulled into the parking area outside Clay's apartment building, was his brother's car.

A small amount of tension dissolved within him, as he realized that Clay was here. Sonny allowed his worry to shift into apprehensive relief at the sight.

Throwing the truck in park, Sonny cut the engine. He would let go of the last of his uneasiness once he laid eyes on Clay, and knew for a fact that the younger man was alright.

He quickly closed the distance to the building, jogging up the stairs and into the dimly lit corridor. It was debatable whose apartment complex was more depressing; his, or his brother's.

Sonny came to a halt outside Clay's door, raised a fist, and knocked.

His ears pricked, listening for movement from within. But he heard nothing.

He knocked again, heartrate picking up.

Still nothing.

Fishing out his phone, he found Clay's number and hit dial, listening for the ringtone from inside the apartment.

Silence.

Sonny felt anxiety spark through his gut once again. He ended the call, chewed his lip.

Spinning around, he stepped towards Derek's door, hesitated, and then knocked.

There was the sound of a chain unlatching, and the door was opened.

"Hi Sonny," Trish greeted cheerfully, a little surprised. "Derek's not here, sorry. He's on base."

Sonny shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, that's okay. I actually just wanted to check if you still have a spare key to Clay's place?"

Trish furrowed her brow. Nodded. "Clay lock himself out again?"

Sonny tried not to laugh, wondering how many times that had happened. But his amusement didn't linger. "No," he stated soberly. "I haven't been able to get in touch with him. His car's out front, but he's not answering his door." He rubbed at his beard, fighting the feeling that he was overreacting.

Thankfully, Trish didn't question further. She ducked back into the apartment and returned a moment later with a single key on a metal ring.

Sonny muttered his thanks, accepted the key and unlocked Clay's door.

Trish hovered, expression concerned.

Sonny swallowed roughly as he entered the quiet apartment. His heart beat in his ears as he searched each room, calling for his brother.

But the place was empty.

"Perhaps he's out for a run?" Trish had moved to Clay's door, peering in. "Or out with a friend?"

Sonny shook his head, breathed a curse. "No," he stated. "He was supposed to be at my place more than an hour ago." He pulled his phone from his pocket, blinked at it. "He hasn't returned any of my calls."

Trish seemed to pick up on Sonny's anxiety. "Perhaps check with the other guys, ask if anyone's seen him? Perhaps he's out and his phone battery died?"

Sonny blew out a breath, gave a clipped nod. But he knew that it was unlikely – Clay was obsessive about keeping his phone charged. It was a job requirement, after all. Trish had to have known that. Sonny realized that she was probably just trying to make him feel better.

It wasn't working.

Sonny handed back the key, and they stepped out into the corridor. He pulled Clay's door locked behind him.

"I'll call you if he comes home," Trish offered.

Sonny squeezed a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Thanks," he said.

He walked back down the corridor towards the stairs, head suddenly spinning with possibilities – none of them good.

It was unlike Clay to just up and disappear.

Sonny quickened his pace, exiting the building and heading back towards his truck. The icy wind from yesterday lingered, continuing to snatch the last fall leaves from the trees, and rippling puddles left over from the recent rain.

Sonny snagged his keys, glanced towards Clay's car. Instinct made him redirect his steps to his brother's vehicle.

A glint of something metallic caught his eye from under the car, and Sonny's breath stuck in his throat. He hurried over to the object, dropping to his knees beside the car and feeling his heart stutter.

Clay's phone lay abandoned on the asphalt, mostly hidden by shadows.

Sonny held it in trembling fingers, blinking at the screen. His unread texts were there, his missed calls and voice messages.

The rock in Sonny's gut tripled in size.

He'd just known it – something had happened to Clay. His Spidey sense had been right, though he'd desperately hoped it had been wrong.

Forcing down his rising panic, Sonny checked around the car. But there were no other clues as to what had happened to his little brother.

With his heart in his throat, Sonny grabbed his phone, found Jason's number, and hit dial.

"Thought you were having a man date with Clay?" Jason's tone was irritated, voice husky with sleep. "This better be worth it. I was actually having a good dream, for once."

Sonny scrubbed a hand over his eyes, blew out a shaky breath. "We were supposed to be," he answered, words unsteady. "But he never turned up."

Jason began to suggest that Sonny should be calling Clay, not him.

But Sonny cut him off. "This is serious, Jace. He wasn't answering his phone, so I came to his place." He couldn't keep the panic from his tone. "He's not here. I found his phone on the ground under his car. I think …" The sentence trailed off, and Sonny swallowed roughly, darting his gaze around as if searching for some sign of Clay to prove him wrong. "I think something might've happened to him."

Saying it out loud - the admission physically _hurt_.

There was a beat of heavy silence, and then a clunk and a muffled curse from Jason's end of the line.

"Jason?" Sonny probed.

"Yeah," Jason replied, all traces of sleepiness gone. "Come straight here. I'll message the others."

Sonny could hear the sharp edges of his team leader's words. "Was kinda hoping you'd tell me I was overreacting," he muttered.

"Just get your ass over here," Jason said.

"Yep."

Sonny ended the call, pocketed his phone with unsteady hands.

He climbed into his truck, and sat for a moment, trying to catch his breath. He cast one last glance towards Clay's abandoned car.

"Where are you, brother?" he whispered, feeling his throat constrict.

He had a bad feeling about this.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Jason was out the front, ready and waiting when Sonny pulled up.

Bravo One's brow was pinched, his movements jerky. He approached the passenger side of the truck, opened the door and climbed in.

Once the door was closed again, he blew out a breath. "I've messaged the others and called Blackburn. None of them have heard from Clay or seen him since yesterday afternoon." He scrubbed a hand over his eyes, and then turned it, palm up, gesturing vaguely outside. "Is there anywhere he could've gone? Any logical explanation?"

Sonny bit his lip, shook his head. He'd run through every possibility he could think of. All signs pointed to Clay being taken – which was completely unacceptable, and baffling. Because it then begged the question of _who_ had taken him.

"Blackburn suggested we head to base, meet there," Jason said. "He's getting Davis to liaise with local authorities, check hospitals, see if she can snag any security footage from around Clay's apartment."

Sonny threw the truck into gear, swung it around, and headed in the direction of the base. "Think we're overreacting?" He asked hopefully. Although deep down he already knew the answer.

Jason shifted in his seat, shook his head. "He may be a pain in the ass, but he's not careless. This isn't like him."

Sonny tightened his grip on the wheel. They were all in agreement then – Clay had not disappeared of his own free will.

Tense silence filled the cab, and Sonny tried, but failed, not to think of worst-case scenarios.

"Wherever he is," Jason muttered, as if to himself. "We'll find him."

Sonny met his team leader's gaze, noted the steady resolve there.

Jason's phone burst to life, and he frowned at the screen for a moment before answering. "Eric? Tell me you've found him."

Sonny's gut flip-flopped.

The conversation was brief. Jason bit his lip as he listened to whatever their commander had to say.

Once the call was ended, Jason darted a glance at Sonny, expression even more troubled than it had been previously.

"What?" Sonny prompted impatiently. "I don't like that look on your face."

Jason swallowed roughly, and his voice was slightly unsteady as he relayed what Blackburn had said. "Apparently, Ash Spenser didn't show up for his radio interview this morning."

Sonny felt a mixture of unease and anger flash through him at the mention of Clay's father.

"Nor did he check in for his flight to JFK that left half an hour ago." Jason rubbed at the crease between his brow, letting his hand come to rest over his mouth. He dropped the phone angrily into his lap.

"Are you trying to tell me," Sonny started, connecting the dots, "that both Clay _and_ Ash are missing?"

Jason blew out a breath. Nodded slowly. "Appears that way."

Sonny couldn't help the string of curses that burst forth from him. "I swear to God, Jace, if that asshole has hurt him …"

"He's a dead man," Jason finished for him, tone frighteningly serious – gaze frighteningly blank.

"I will hunt him down, and string him up by his fucking gonads," Sonny continued, feeling himself beginning to shake with rage.

Jason didn't reply. Just stared straight ahead, his jaw working silently, shoulders rigid.

Sonny had known Jason a long time, and he knew … When Jason Hayes got _that_ look - you'd better fucking run.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks so much to everyone for the encouragement :) I really appreciate it! Once again, a reminder that I am no expert in anything, and I do tend to bend reality a little for the sake of a story :) **

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Ash Spenser blinked groggily up at the muted sunlight filtering in through the high, louver window. The morning had been overcast, and the way the sunlight came and went told him that clouds still lingered. The cloud cover, and his grogginess, made it difficult to guess how much time had passed. But, judging from the fact that he wasn't dehydrated, and his stomach wasn't grumbling too badly, he figured perhaps half a day had gone by, at best.

He'd been getting ready to leave for his radio interview when there had been an unexpected knock at his front door. He'd leaned against the peep hole, curious and more than a little irritated by who was bothering him at eight AM. But he hadn't seen anyone there.

Allowing his curiosity to get the better of him, he'd opened his front door - attention instantly drawn downwards to a simple box, set upon his doormat. A quick glance around had failed to reveal who had delivered it, and he'd frowned, bending down to lift it inside.

A series of unfortunate mistakes, he realized now. A sudden sting had bloomed through his bicep and he'd startled, forgetting the box, eyes snapping to the source of discomfort. He'd had just enough time to pluck the metal dart from his arm, and vaguely register what it was, before his vision had blurred around the edges and he'd felt himself drop like a sack of bricks.

Whatever had been in the dart had knocked him out quickly and completely, and when Ash had next opened his eyes, he'd been here – in what he could only deduce was a small room in a warehouse type building.

As his mind had cleared, he'd set about assessing his surroundings. He may be retired, but a frogman never forgets his training.

Unfortunately, it hadn't taken him long to realize that there wasn't much chance of escape. The solitary window sat far too high, with no way up. There was only one door in and out – heavy by the looks of it, framed in metal, and presumably locked. The floor was concrete, as were the walls, so no options there. The room was completely bare, save for the metal chains that bound him to the wall, wrapping around his wrists with wide cuffs. His ankles were tied together with rope.

Realizing there was nothing he could do to improve his situation, he'd sat - mind churning through possibilities of who had taken him, and why. He knew he'd upset a lot of people with his book, and he'd received his fair share of threats. But this was a little extreme, even for the worst of his haters. For a moment, he'd wondered whether Clay had been responsible. But he'd quickly scrapped that idea – the boy was far too invested in his career to throw it all away over his dislike for his father.

As it turned out, Ash didn't have to wait long before keys jangled in the lock, and his mystery captor stepped into the room.

The man paused, staring down at Ash.

Ash did his best to return the look, setting his features in the most neutral expression he could muster as he studied the man's face. Despite running through his mental catalogue, he failed to recognize the dark-haired man, who looked to be around a similar age as himself.

Tense silence lingered between them. Eventually Ash cleared his throat. "Do you know who I am?" he asked steadily.

The man's lip quirked slightly, but his expression remained cold. He stepped forward, tilting his head as he regarded his prisoner – a hunter eyeing his prize. "Oh, I know exactly who you are," he replied evenly.

Ash tried to place the man's accent. Mexican? Clay was the one with the ear for languages, not him. He'd never possessed much desire to learn.

"The question is," the man continued, holding Ash's gaze, "do _you_ know who _I_ am?"

Ash narrowed his eyes, tracing the man's movements as the stranger reached into his pocket, producing a syringe. "Can't say I recognize you," he replied, managing to keep his voice from wavering. And then he added, sarcastically, "_Sorry._"

The man didn't flinch. His eyes focused on the syringe, holding it up to the dull light from the window as he squirted a small amount from the end.

Ash swallowed jaggedly.

"Never mind," the man stated, stepping closer. "I will remind you in a little while." He held the syringe towards Ash, managing to jab it roughly into the older Spenser's leg – ignoring the way Ash thrashed about in his attempt to avoid the prick.

Ash felt the effects almost immediately. His vision blurred, his body suddenly heavy.

The last thing he heard was the man announcing that he was going to get one more guest for their party, and his warning for Ash to stay put.

Time passed.

Ash drifted between dreams, eventually resurfacing back in the warehouse, where he took stock of his surroundings once more.

He got himself into a sitting position, and sat, leaning up against the cold, concrete wall. He let his head drop back. The room swayed, subtly, but he could feel that the effects of whatever drug he'd been given were already wearing off.

He hadn't heard the dark-haired man return. He'd still been unconscious when the other 'party guest' had been brought in and chained to the opposite wall.

Ash blinked at his fellow captive.

From what he could deduce, the body on the floor was male, solidly built, and still breathing. He couldn't see the man's face, but he guessed he was Caucasian, based on the mop of blonde hair.

Ash narrowed his eyes, studying the unconscious form. From this angle, with the hair, it almost looked like Clay.

Suddenly, the form let out a groan, limbs jerking as he returned to consciousness. Reflexively he lashed out – but abruptly stilled once he realized he was restrained.

Glazed eyes darted about, and he attempted to lift his head to get a better look at the chains and the ropes around his ankles. There was minimal panic in his movements, and Ash immediately recognized that this man was assessing and cataloguing his immediate surroundings – much the same as Ash had done, once he'd first woken up.

Blue eyes finally met his, and Ash felt a small jolt travel through him as he realized who the other man was. Surprise threatened his expression, but he managed to mask it by locking his jaw and slightly inclining his chin.

Clay was the first to look away, allowing his head to drop back against the concrete floor with a muffled clunk. He closed his eyes briefly, opening them again and blinking up towards the ceiling. "Gotta be fucking kidding me," he slurred, barely audibly, under his breath.

And Ash couldn't be sure, exactly, what his son was referring to - the fact that they had been abducted, or the fact that they were trapped in a room together with no obvious escape.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Clay felt his consciousness slipping, and it took all his effort to pull his eyes back open. Each heavy blink threatened to send him back into oblivion. He tried to focus on the dim light of a window high above him, the grey glow catching on metal rafters. Vaguely, he wondered where he was.

He had been heading to Sonny's. He'd paused by his car, intending to text his brother that he was on his way. But he'd never even got the chance to type. A sharp sting in his thigh had startled him, and he'd glanced down to see what appeared to be the end of a metal dart protruding from his jeans. The reality of what was happening barely had time to register, before Clay had dropped to the ground and slid quickly into darkness.

Darkness, and dreams.

Even now, he felt he was still stuck halfway between awake and asleep. Whatever drug he'd been given had completely taken him down. Even without the restraints, Clay was doubtful he could lift and coordinate his limbs.

He'd done a quick assessment of his immediate surroundings once he'd regained consciousness. Concrete floor, walls, warehouse-type building. Ankles restrained by rope, which could possibly be undone. Wrists restrained by metal chains, bolted to the wall – definitely no chance of undoing them. And then his bleary gaze had wandered further, across the dusty floor, to the figure of another man sitting against the opposite wall.

Clay had recognized Ash within a heartbeat, eyes traveling quickly over the older man's matching restraints. The effort of turning his head had been overwhelming, and he'd given up and allowed it to drop back to the concrete, barely feeing the thud.

The universe certainly was cruel. Not only was he in this God-awful situation, but he was stuck here with his father. There was just no escaping the man. And now some asshole had made sure of it, trapping them both in a room together. What sort of fucked-up hand of cards was this?

Clay allowed his gaze to shift in and out of focus. His heart pounded in his chest, and despite his best efforts to slow it, it refused to cooperate. Possibly a side-effect of the drug, he thought vaguely. He let his head loll to the side, didn't attempt to lift it this time.

Ash sat, regarding him levelly.

Before either of them had a chance to speak, the lock clicked on the door, and someone entered.

Clay tried to get a look at the new arrival, but his body still wasn't cooperating. He stopped his efforts when a dark-haired man squatted by his head, brown eyes cold, his expression strangely blank as he stared at Clay. He had a hard, lined face – lines from frowning, not smiling. Silver speckled his otherwise black hair.

Clay's fuzzy-edged thoughts were difficult to pin down. Even though he'd been trained for situations like these, his senses weren't properly online. He felt uneasy by how vulnerable he was. His abductor had obviously planned to disarm him – both physically and mentally. It was hard to fight, when your mind and body were detached from one another.

"You don't know me," the man said. His English was accented, and Clay guessed he was a native Spanish-speaker. "But your father and I go way back." Despite referring to Ash, he held Clay's gaze. "You see," he continued, "your father took something very special from me."

Clay's vision swam. His mouth felt dry. He darted a glance at Ash, but the older man held his neutral expression, giving nothing away.

The dark-haired man leaned closer, his cigarette-tinted breath warm against Clay's ear. "Your father killed my son," he stated icily.

Clay flinched at the words, pulling away involuntarily. Despite his haze of numbness, he felt his stomach clench painfully against his rib cage.

The man straightened, spun to face Ash. In two strides he'd closed the distance between them. He lunged for the older Spenser, fisting the collar of his button-up shirt. "_You killed my son_." He released a fist, drew it back, and swung. Hard.

Ash's head snapped back against the wall.

Clay blinked rapidly, feeling his already galloping heartrate pick up speed. The man was solidly built. Clay could tell, from the outline of his arms, that he had muscle mass. His punches posed a real threat.

Ash hadn't cried out. He recovered from the blow, steely eyes like daggers. His usual air of arrogance settled across his features as he set his jaw – only now the look was sharp around the edges, dangerous. He licked the blood from his split lip.

The dark-haired man let out a low, strangled growl. For a moment, he lost his composure, and even though Clay could only see him from behind, he recognized the brokenness in his posture.

Clay tried to focus, but his thoughts were jelly. Broken people were the most dangerous, he thought faintly. They were often the ones with nothing left to lose.

"It seems only fair," the accented man continued, words still directed at Ash, "that I return the favor, and take something special from _you_." He cast a glance briefly at Clay. "You say you don't remember me." He stood, stepped closer to Clay. "I'll happily jog your memory."

Clay attempted once again to coordinate his limbs, to pull himself upright – but the connection between his body and brain was temporarily frayed, and the restraints were unyielding. The most he managed was an ungraceful roll to his side, towards the advancing man.

A boot caught him mid-torso, and Clay felt the air rush from his lungs. The pain from the blow was muted by the drugs, but it still ricocheted through him. Instinctively, he curled in on himself as much as he was able, biting down on a groan.

Another kick landed, this time to his chest. Thankfully Clay didn't feel any bones break, but that didn't mean it hadn't caused damage. Once again, the drugs took away the edge. But they would eventually wear off, and then Clay was sure he was in for a world of pain. Gasping, he tried to dredge up his training, disconnect from the abuse. He was partially successful.

"Twelve years ago," the stranger continued, pinning Ash with a weighted look, his words lined with disgust, "you came to my village in Colombia, in the middle of the night."

Ash didn't flinch.

"You came with your American military, with your guns and your grenades, to capture a man who was hiding there." A finger was jabbed in Ash's direction. "You got your man, but you were careless, and your carelessness set fire to our home."

Ash's poker face held firm.

The Colombian shook his head, as if he could dislodge the memories with the action. "My son," his voice cracked. "My son was _only_ thirteen. He yelled after you, as you and your men were running away. His mother was crying, scared. My son was angry, and he came after you, yelling and cursing."

The man spun to face Clay again, kicked once more, this time connecting with his shoulder.

Clay tried, but couldn't quite bite back the small grunt that escaped him. Tears filled his eyes, and his head spun. Once more he tried to disconnect, but his usual focus continued to evade him.

"You shot him." The man's tone had dropped, low and gravelly, thick with years-old grief. "For _no good reason_, you shot him."

Clay's chest hitched, and he struggled to pull in a full breath. His watering eyes darted to Ash, as he considered what this stranger was implying.

"My boy died in my wife's arms." The brokenness in the Colombian's voice lingered, swelled and filled the room. And then it deflated, into something more hollow, as he admitted, "My life ended that night, on the ground outside our burning house. My wife's life as well." He glared at Ash. "I swore I would never forget your face. I swore if I ever saw you again, I would kill you."

Ash attempted to pull himself straighter against the wall, features set in defiance, eyes frosty blue. "People will notice we're missing."

The dark-haired man allowed a small, bitter laugh. "I don't doubt that they will."

Clay's fragmented thoughts skipped to Sonny, to his brothers. Would Sonny realize that something was wrong, or would he just assume Clay had skipped out on him? How much time had passed since he was supposed to be at his best friend's house, watching the game?

"I don't plan to drag this out," the man admitted coldly, eyes pulling away from Ash to land back on Clay.

Clay willed the effects of the drug to wear off faster. A small part of him screamed that this couldn't possibly be how his life ended – at the hands of a mad man, locked up with his useless father, _because_ of something said useless father had done more than a decade ago.

Anger bloomed, spreading through Clay's chest. He wanted to offer to get rid of Ash himself. But the stranger seemed unshakably bent on revenge. And unfortunately, that revenge seemed to involve killing Clay.

Ash shifted, and Clay could see his mind working. At least the older SEAL didn't seem as affected by the drugs as Clay was. Not an oversight, Clay was sure.

"You'll end up dying with us, once you're caught." Ash stated.

The man's lip twitched into a wry smile. "Who said I was planning to come out of this alive?"

Clay felt his stomach knot. He thought over the Colombian's story. If what the man had said was true – and Clay had no reason to doubt it – then Ash would have to face up to the crime. But the reality was, it was a villager's word against one of the greatest SEALs the Navy had ever seen. PNG or not, Ash would have more than an unfair advantage. And perhaps the man had known that.

"So," the Colombian said, drawing out the word and continuing to hold his crooked smile, eyes on Ash. "Are you ready to watch your boy die?"

Ash's expression remained set in stone.

It was Clay who broke the silence, unable to stop the small, bitter chuckle from spilling over his lips.

Both sets of eyes darted towards him, and he met them, his own blue eyes cooling. "I just see one flaw in your otherwise brilliant plan," he slurred, addressing the man and managing to hold his words steady. He pinned Ash with a look. "My father doesn't give a shit about me." His chest burned with every breath. "So, I'm sorry to break it to you," he coughed painfully. Lost his breath. Managed to find it again. "But killing me wont have the impact you're looking for."

Ash's brow twitched, the movement noticeable against his otherwise rigid features.

The man's gaze swung between father and son, and Clay could tell he was weighing up the truth of the statement. Eventually he shrugged. "Maybe," he replied. "Maybe not. Maybe it's a tactic to get me to reconsider." His eyes bore into Clay's. "I guess we'll just have to find out."

The man leaned down and swung, and Clay braced against the blow that came to his jaw. The impact was brutal, and he spat blood, gagging against the pain.

Ash sat silently, unflinching - his expression as smooth and cold as carved stone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Extra warning on this chapter for the mention of the death of a child. Also, things get a little darker. Thanks so much for reading, and to those who've left encouraging words. I really appreciate it :)**

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Sonny paced Bravo's cage room like a bull in a pen. He'd come here for some space, some air, but he was finding neither as the room felt too small and stuffy, despite the day's chill.

It was three PM, and Clay had been missing for five hours now. Five hours since he'd failed to turn up to Sonny's to watch the game.

Five hours wasn't a long time, and yet, right now, it felt like an eternity.

Sonny glanced towards Clay's cage - as he had done multiple times since entering the room. Clay's belongings were exactly where the younger man had left them, all stashed away tidily. Meticulous. _Anal_, as Sonny sometimes referred to it. Despite the belongings, the cage felt empty. And somewhere in the very back of Sonny's mind, in a place he barely dared to look, he worried that his little brother might never return to it.

A low growl rumbled in his throat, and he resumed pacing.

Blackburn's words echoed through his churning thoughts;

The authorities so far hadn't found any evidence of foul play at either Clay's or Ash's homes. They wanted to wait twenty-four hours at least before filing official missing person's reports. NCIS were in agreement, and weren't jumping to any conclusions due to lack of evidence. _And_ it had even been suggested that perhaps Clay and Ash were somewhere together, _by choice._

In other words, for at least the next twenty hours, they were on their own looking for Clay – unless they turned up anything solid to indicate that their boy was definitely in trouble.

Sonny halted at his own cage, bracing against it and leaning forward. He could feel his heartbeat pounding against his temples. He attempted to bore a hole through the floor with his gaze.

Davis hadn't managed to find much in the way of security footage. Clay's apartment building was fitted with cameras, but only on the inside. And Ash didn't have cameras in or around his house. The best they could do were traffic cameras – the nearest of which was a block from Clay's apartment, at a busy intersection, and then two blocks from Ash's house. But so far, even those hadn't been helpful.

They'd been in contact with Rebecca, but she hadn't heard from Clay in weeks. They'd checked with the local coffee shop, convenience store, and even the bar close to Clay's apartment – stabs in the dark, all of them, but they'd felt the need to check, regardless. Not surprisingly, none of them had offered any revelations. They'd placed a tracker on the bottom of Clay's and Ash's vehicles, in case anyone moved them. And Ray had asked Naima to call if either of the missing men turned up in the ED at her hospital.

On one hand, it bothered Sonny how few significant people Clay seemed to have in his life. No family, no close friends outside of Bravo. It was a catch twenty-two; fewer places to check made their search quicker and easier, but when each of those stones had been turned over and there was still no sign of Clay, it made it difficult to know where to turn next.

Despite how much Sonny wanted to point the finger at Ash, he had to agree with the general consensus that abducting his own son wasn't something Ash Spenser seemed capable of. The man could barely see beyond his own nose; he was far too self-involved to sabotage the success of his book by doing something so drastic. And it wasn't even a possibility that the opposite had occurred, and Clay had abducted his father. They all knew Clay couldn't stand to be around the man, and wouldn't, under any circumstances, voluntarily spend time with him. So, who the hell _was _responsible, then?

The door to the cage room clicked open, and Davis entered.

Sonny glanced up briefly, but didn't hold her gaze. He returned his eyes to the floor with a heavy sigh and drummed his fingers against his cage.

A gentle hand landed upon his shoulder, a light squeeze. "Thought I might find you here. You doing okay?" She asked.

Sonny blew out an unsteady breath, shook his head. Nope. No, he was not. He pushed up from the wall, straightened, and turned to face her. Leaning back against the cage, he scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "Thought you were getting coffee?" He asked, noticing that she was empty-handed.

Davis huffed, turned and leaned back against the cage beside him, her shoulder pressed up against his arm. "I was," she answered simply. "But Jason broke the coffee machine."

Sonny arched a brow.

"I believe he punched it," she stated.

Sonny chewed his lip. Yeah, that seemed like a Jason thing to do, given the circumstances. "He's gone into protective-Dad-mode."

Davis pushed her hands into her pockets, let her head drop back. Her eyes drifted up to the ceiling. She nodded slowly. "Never would have guessed, that Jason would end up becoming so attached to Clay."

Sonny snorted. "Can't imagine Jason would've guessed it either." He allowed a sad smile. "Same goes for all of us, I suppose. Spenser's an annoying little shit, but he grows on you."

That drew a small laugh from her. "Yeah," she agreed. "He certainly does."

"I keep hoping he'll just walk on in, you know," Sonny admitted quietly. "Make fun of us for panicking."

Davis regarded him gently, her eyes glinting, betraying her own worry. She didn't reply, just gave a slight nod.

They stood in silence for a few moments longer, each lost in their own thoughts – each lost for what to say. Shallow reassurances weren't working, and they'd given them up early on. But despite the weight of their worry, each member of Bravo was determined to do whatever they could to find their missing boy. They were trained to operate under a multitude of uncomfortable circumstances – this was no different. At least, that's what they kept telling themselves.

Each of them knew, however, that this was very, very different.

"I'm gonna head back," Davis announced, breaking the silence.

Sonny blew out a rough breath, cleared his throat. He tried to swallow against the threatening lump. He should head back as well. He wasn't going to find Clay here.

Straightening, he attempted to shake his head back into gear, and followed Davis out of the room.

They reached the team room door at the same time as Derek and Full Metal.

"Hey," Derek said, expression set with concern. "Heard Clay was missing?"

Davis slipped him a look. "Good to see the old grapevine is working as well as ever."

Derek allowed the comment to slide. Nodded his head towards the door. "We're here to help."

Sonny's eyes met Metal's.

The taller man's expression was often hard to read, but today it was dangerously shadowed. "Happy to help dismantle whoever took him," Alpha One stated coolly.

Sonny quirked a lip. "Get in line," he muttered, before opening the door and ushering them inside. "Not sure what you can do to help though. We got squat."

Derek pursed his lips, nodded a silent greeting to Jason and Blackburn. "Well," he said flatly. "I have a feeling I was the last one to see Clay, yesterday afternoon. He and Ash had a heated discussion outside our apartment building. I heard him tell his father to stay away from him."

Sonny felt his skin crawl at the mention of Ash. It was becoming a reflex reaction. He raised a brow at Derek's words.

"We haven't found anything to suggest Ash took Clay," Jason spoke up, from where he sat perched upon a table. The knuckles of his right hand were red, betraying his recent altercation with the coffee machine. "But we also haven't found anything to suggest he _didn't_."

Blackburn rubbed his chin. "We're in agreement that it's unlikely. But it's worrying to know they had an argument only yesterday."

"I'll go back through the traffic cam feeds from this morning," Davis offered wearily, moving towards a set of laptops on a nearby table. "We've gotta be missing something."

Sonny could only hope that she was right.

People didn't just vanish without a trace. But then, he thought nervously, Clay had never been one to do things half-assed.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

"_HAVOC, this is One. We have our target. Heading to exfil."_

_Ash swung his rifle around, covering their six, as his team hurriedly made their way out of the Colombian village towards the waiting chopper._

_Their HVT had been heavily guarded, more heavily than they had anticipated. Someone would answer for the bad intel, he was sure._

_Smoke and dust swirled, drowning out the stars above. Villagers had woken – some still screamed, terrified by the sudden firefight. Others cowered in shadowed doorways, peeking through curtained windows._

_In the area surrounding their target building, bodies littered the street. A small house was on fire, angry flames licking through cavities where windows had blown out. _

_Movement at Ash's three o'clock caught his attention, and he dropped the armed man before the enemy bullet could find its mark. Their HVT had lots of friends, it appeared, and some still hadn't got the memo that the fight was over._

_Ash's finger twitched against his rifle's trigger, thirsty for more action. This was his first op in nearly a month after being sidelined with a concussion. He hadn't done well, twiddling his thumbs waiting for the all-clear. He'd bent the truth, slightly, in order to return to the field as soon as possible. His blurred vision still came and went. It wasn't nearly as bad as it had been - but it wasn't entirely gone, as he'd claimed._

_Another man attempted to go after their restrained target, darting out from a doorway and failing to notice Ash bringing up the rear of the group._

_Pop-pop._

_The man bit the dust._

_Sometimes Ash wished he wasn't such a good shot. There wasn't much fun in someone going down so easily. His fists tingled for a fight._

_An aggressive, frantic yell from behind him had him spinning, rifle aimed and ready. His vision blurred against the glow of the burning house. He saw the shape of someone rushing towards him, cursing wildly._

_Without thought, he pulled the trigger._

_The figure crumpled._

_Ash's vision cleared as two more people rushed into the street, screaming. A man and a woman. They fell upon their knees beside the tango he'd just put down._

_No._

_Not a tango._

_He flipped up his NOD's to see a boy – a teenager at best, lanky arms and legs._

_Fuck._

_He'd shot a boy._

_The woman scooped up the crumpled body, wailing hysterically. The man was on his knees beside her, blood staining his hands as he frantically pressed them against the boy's stomach._

_Ash's mouth felt dry. His head spun. His judgement had been compromised due to his vision blurring right at that moment – because he was operating when he should never have been cleared for action._

"_Bravo Four, what's your status?" His team leader's voice cut over comms. _

_Ash snapped himself back to reality. He'd fallen too far behind his team. Hastily, he flipped his NOD's back into position and turned his back to the family he'd just destroyed._

_Setting his jaw, he keyed his radio. "One, this is Four," he replied tersely, resuming his path through the village at a more rapid pace. "I've had contact, multiple tangoes. I've taken care of it. Continuing to exfil."_

_There was a pause, and Ash could feel his heart pounding in his ears._

"_Copy that, Four," his team leader replied. "Get your ass to the chopper. Let's get out of here."_

_Ash swallowed roughly, resisting the dull urge to turn and look back in the direction of the dying boy. He'd become an expert at muting his emotions, allowing numbness to take the place of attachment, care, and vulnerability. There was a reason he was so good at his job. He'd flicked his heart off at the switch years ago, and he'd never bothered turning it back on. Detachment was an artform that he'd mastered completely._

_Ash wouldn't lose sleep over his mistake tonight. As far as he was concerned, it was a secret that would die here, along with the boy._

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Ash shifted uncomfortably against the concrete wall, shaking free of the memory, the metal cuffs digging into his wrists at the movement. The temperature had dropped, and the room was even duller than before. In the heavy silence he could just make out the sound of rain spitting against the high louver window.

He'd worked out who the dark-haired man was.

The Colombian had left the room a handful of minutes ago, when Clay had passed out, announcing that he would be back shortly – and muttering that there was little satisfaction in killing Clay while the younger man was unconscious.

Ash regarded his son. Clay was on his back, face tilted away. His chest rose and fell with shallow, even breaths, and a fine tremor ran through him. His fingers twitched every so often, arms stretched above his head, chains taught. The debris of his shirt lay around him – strips of fabric damp with blood.

Ash had watched, unblinking, as the Colombian had come at Clay with a knife. Clay hadn't stood much of a chance, what with the restraints and the remnants of the drug coursing through his veins. His chest had been sliced, the blade tearing his shirt. The cuts had been deliberately shallow, but even shallow cuts bled and stung.

Clay had done an admirable job of not crying out, managing only a few muttered curses here and there, but otherwise denying their captor the satisfaction of knowing that he was suffering.

The younger SEAL had performed admirably, right up until the Colombian had exited the room, and returned with a cattle prod.

Ash had never seen a cattle prod used on a human before. The dark-haired man had torn away the remainder of Clay's shirt, allowing the charged end to connect directly with his skin. Clay's body had jolted involuntarily, and finally, after the third shock, he'd let out a strangled, breathless scream.

The man had stopped prodding then, letting a twisted smile brush his lips. His gaze had traveled to Ash. "How does it feel, seeing your son treated like an animal? His flesh bloody and singed?"

Ash hadn't replied. He'd held his expression firm, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he'd glared back at the man.

Clay had chosen that moment to pass out.

"Don't worry," the Colombian had said, as he'd rested the cattle prod over his shoulder and stepped towards the door. "It will be over for him soon." The shadows in his eyes had darkened. "And then it will be your turn."

Ash had inclined his chin stubbornly, holding the man's gaze right up until the moment the heavy door was latched closed.

Now, he watched the jerky rise and fall of Clay's chest, surveying the multiple cuts and singe marks covering his boy's skin. Involuntarily, his mind drifted to the day his son was born, and he narrowed his eyes, chewing over the memory.

He'd never wanted a child. He'd told his wife that much. But somehow, she'd 'accidentally' fallen pregnant, and when Clay had come into the world, Ash had felt the ground torn from beneath him. Because he'd realized that loving people _hurt_. And he knew, beyond a doubt, that the hurt wasn't worth it.

Too many times, he'd cared about people, only to have them taken away. Caring about people hurt more than any knife wound, or bullet, or bomb blast. Love came like a thief in the night, taking root on the inside with invisible thread, and that thread pulled and pulled and pulled – tangling, binding, fraying, _breaking_. A man could completely unravel, because of love.

Ash had loved Clay, for a moment. And it had scared the life out of him. As he'd stared at the tiny baby on his wife's chest, he'd realized with horror that he was suddenly vulnerable. _Breakable_. He had fallen out of love with his wife long before, and she'd known it. She'd admitted to hoping that a baby might bring them closer. But, as it happened, the opposite occurred.

Ash refused to be weak. He would not be threatened by the likes of a tiny boy. He'd severed the threads before they could bind him, and his love had turned quickly to anger.

It was easier to be angry, than to care. It was easier to be numb, than to feel. He'd pushed Clay away and had turned his back on his wife, because it was _safer_. He'd felt nothing when she'd sent Clay to Liberia to live with her parents. And he'd felt nothing when she'd died of an overdose six months later.

Ash Spenser had learned that it was far better to avoid caring for others, than to risk vulnerability. His empty heart had served him well. He'd become a stronger operator - a _better _operator - because of it.

Now, staring at Clay, he tried, but failed, to feel anything. The space where paternal love should be was nothing but a hollowed-out shell. He knew that most fathers would do anything for their children. But he wasn't most fathers.

Narrowing his eyes at Clay's twitching fingers, Ash felt his lip curl. "I know you're faking." His voice was sharp in the otherwise quiet room. He kept his volume low. "I know you're awake."

Clay didn't move, or acknowledge the words.

Ash continued anyway. "I'm sure you're thinking that your brothers will come and save you." The word _brothers_ tasted bitter on his tongue. "But the only one you can rely on, right now, is yourself."

Clay had always been weak. Foolish. He cared too deeply for others.

"My father used to say, 'Love many. Trust few. Always paddle your own canoe.'" Ash huffed a small laugh, recalling his own arrogant, aggressive, poor excuse for a father. "I never agreed with the first part. But the last two points are accurate."

Clay still didn't stir.

But Ash felt sure that his son was listening. "You're one of the best the Navy has to offer." Once again, the words left a bitter aftertaste. "You've been trained to _fight_."

The rain drummed harder against the louver window.

Ash felt his heart drumming against his chest. He hated having to rely on someone else to save his life, _especially_ Clay - the boy who'd brought him so dangerously close to unravelling, all those years ago.

He dropped his voice to a growl. "So, show this monster what you're made of," he stated sharply. "And _fight_."

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

**A/N I'm not sure which team Ash used to run with, and which position he held (feel free to let me know if you happen to know!) but for the sake of this story I've given him a history with Bravo :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Once again, thanks to those who have left encouraging words :) I really appreciate it. Here's the next bit ...**

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Derek snagged a chair, wheeled it across the floor and parked himself beside Davis.

She sat, unblinking, flicking through traffic camera images. Her back was stiff, her movements irritable. "We've got to be missing something," she kept muttering under her breath, shaking her head, almost like a nervous twitch.

"Care for a fresh set of eyes?" Derek offered.

She bit her lip, shot him a sideways glance. "Be my guest," she replied tensely, scooting over a little.

Derek began clicking through the images. He recognized the busy intersection near his and Clay's apartment building. The other images were from near Ash's house, as well as various intersections within a three-mile radius of both properties.

"I feel like we're looking for a needle in a haystack," Davis admitted, tone laced with defeat.

Derek didn't miss the guilty glance she shot towards Sonny and Jason, who were deep in conversation with Ray and Full Metal.

"Hey," he offered gently. "It's not on you to solve this alone."

Davis raised a brow. "Yes, it is. It's my job. I should have found something by now."

But Derek shook her words off. "It's all of our job to look out for each other. I was the last person to see Clay yesterday, and I was most likely home this morning when he went missing." His stomach knotted. The fact that he'd been within shouting distance of his brother when Clay had been taken weighed heavily upon him.

Leaning forward, he studied the images more carefully. "We're sure he was taken this morning?" he clarified, glancing at the image time-stamps.

Davis nodded. "When Sonny found Clay's cell phone, he could see that Clay had read a couple of text messages from earlier this morning. But the messages after nine AM were unopened."

"And Ash disappeared this morning as well?"

Davis blew out a breath, leaned back in her chair. "Yeah, it looks that way. One of his neighbors noticed a light on in his front room early this morning, so we're assuming he was home." She stared through the computer screen, eyes distant, lost in thought. "I originally thought that if I could identify the same vehicle near both Clay's and Ash's, I might be able to run the plates and it would give us a starting point."

Derek continued clicking through photos. He'd had the same thought.

Davis shook her head, still staring through the screen. "But I've had no luck. There's so much traffic, it's hard to make note of every single car that passed through the intersections near Ash's, and compare it to every single car that passed through the intersection near Clay's …" her voice trailed off, half in frustration, half in defeat.

Derek glanced between her and the computer. "Needle in a haystack," he echoed her earlier words. There were hundreds of cars in each photo. It would be a stroke of luck, to find the same car.

He'd never seen Davis this frayed around the edges before, borderline frazzled. Normally she was unflappable, confident, cool-headed. His eyes darted to the rest of the guys.

Blackburn was in a far corner, speaking quietly into his phone, his body tense. Jason was still sitting on a table, fiddling anxiously, brow furrowed and eyes darting between Sonny, Ray and Full Metal as he listened to their conversation. Sonny was restless, shifting where he stood, looking like he was two seconds away from storming out of the room to shoot someone. Ray appeared to be his usual, calm self on the outside, but Derek could see the worry lines around his eyes and stiff posture, betraying the storm that was probably raging within him. Nearby, Trent and Brock sat quietly, neither speaking, each appearing completely lost in their own troubled thoughts, Cerberus resting his head on Brock's thigh.

A heavy feeling of loss lingered around them - both a result of Clay's absence, and their lack of knowing how to get him back.

The door clicked open, and Vic Lopez shouldered his way into the room, eyes barely visible over the mound of takeout bags balanced in his arms. Bravo's rookie had been sent out to grab them all some food, eagerly jumping at the task to do something useful. The kid was still finding his feet within the team, and this situation had him swimming way out of his depth. Derek hadn't spent much time with him, but from what little he knew of Bravo Seven, he could see why Jason had chosen him.

Lopez would someday be to Clay what Ray was to Jason – the lantern to keep the wild flame in check. Derek's gaze flicked to Full Metal. He supposed, in a way, the same dynamic existed within his own team.

Turning his attention back to the screen and the traffic images, he clicked through the photos from the intersection near his and Clay's apartment. He'd barely reached the fourth image when he stopped.

He zoomed in on a white van with a blue stripe down the side.

Leaning forward, his lips turned down into a frown as he regarded the vehicle. It was familiar. He sifted through his memories, trying to place it.

Davis had noticed his change in demeanor. She glanced between him and the van on the screen. "You got something?" Her tone was cautiously hopeful.

Derek tilted his head to the side, still frowning. Where had he seen that van before? Instinct had drawn his attention to it, a foggy memory niggling at him.

And then it hit him. His back stiffened, and he jabbed a finger at the image. "That van," he stated, the memory becoming clearer, "was outside our apartment building yesterday afternoon." He speared Davis with a look. "I saw it parked on the street. I remember the blue stripe down the side. I didn't recognize it and assumed it was a courier of some sort."

Davis was already frantically clicking back through images.

Derek did the same, checking photos from around Ash's house, trying to find the same van.

But after five minutes of searching, they'd found no sign of it.

Davis was the first to state the obvious. "Whoever was driving that van, wasn't at Ash's house this morning."

Derek chewed it over for a moment, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. Perhaps not. But perhaps …

"What are you thinking?" Davis probed. "You look like you're thinking."

Derek scratched at his short beard, blew out a breath. "What if they _were_ at Ash's house," he suggested. "But they drove a different car?"

Davis chewed her lip, considering the possibility. Eventually she nodded, slowly at first and then becoming more rapid. "That's a damned good idea," she muttered, fingers jabbing at the keys as she brought up the image again, zoomed in on the registration plate. "Let's run this plate, see what we get."

Derek felt his gut clench as he regarded the van, thinking that there had potentially been someone inside it yesterday afternoon, watching Clay. Derek had singled out the van as being unfamiliar, but hadn't noticed any red flags, nothing obviously strange about it. Now, however, he wished he could go back in time and peek inside.

While Davis was running the plates, he clicked through images, tracking the van's route from this morning. It was difficult, as not all intersections had cameras.

Davis' search came back, and she jotted down some details from the screen. "Van's registered to a Mateo Garcia," she relayed. "Doesn't appear to be a residential address." She frowned, plugging the address into the search bar. A map popped up, and Derek glanced over, recognizing it as an industrial area about a half hour from the base. The little red pin sat right in the middle of it.

"Factory?" He guessed, feeling uneasiness spread through him.

Davis didn't reply. She brought up the street view, and they looked at what appeared to be a warehouse. Punching in another search, Davis shot him a troubled glance. "There's no business linked to that address."

Derek's worry doubled. "Empty warehouse?" He didn't like the scenarios that were suddenly charging through his mind.

Davis cursed, pushing up from her chair and yelling for the others.

Derek returned to the traffic images, hurriedly tracing the van's path from earlier today. He was only up to the intersections a few miles from his and Clay's apartment, but it was already obvious that the van had been heading towards the warehouse this morning.

A sense of urgency filled him, dropping his stomach and increasing his heartrate.

"Hang in there, kid," he whispered, feeling confident that this was the lead they'd been hoping for. He just prayed that they got to their brother in time.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Clay focused on his breathing, his heartrate, and keeping his body as still as possible. He hadn't actually passed out, though he'd come close.

It had been a long shot, faking unconsciousness, and his captor had bought it. For how long, Clay wasn't sure. But for the moment, at least, he and Ash were alone, and Clay had a moment to gather his thoughts - to refocus, to plan.

The effects of the drug had worn off considerably, although he'd continued to act as though he was still under its influence. Better for the Colombian to believe he was subdued than to dose him up again.

Clay had thrashed around during the time the man had used the knife and the cattle prod, subtly testing the strength of his restraints and his range of motion, whilst making it appear that he was reacting to the pain. He'd successfully detached himself from the hurt, allowing it to dissolve into a manageable discomfort, hovering on the outskirts of his awareness. The techniques he'd learned during SERE training hadn't been ones he'd ever hoped to use in real life – no operator in their right mind would hope to make use of them. Yet, here he was …

Here, in this God-forsaken warehouse, in the middle of who knew where. He lay on his back, listening to the steady pitter-pat of rain against glass coming from high above him.

He'd heard Ash's words, but hadn't yet acknowledged them. Long before SERE, and his life in the Navy, Clay had learned to detach himself in a different way, thanks to his father.

Back in his early years, living with an angry, mostly-absent Ash, and a hopelessly lost mother, he'd mastered the art of disassociation and withdrawal. He'd often hidden in his wardrobe; knees to his chest, eyes squeezed shut, and hands over his ears to block out the sound of his parents fighting. His mind had always chosen the same place to go - a beautiful beach that he'd once seen on a billboard. He'd thought of it as _his_ beach, his safe place. He hadn't been at all shocked when his mind had taken him back there during SERE - although Brian's appearance had been a pleasant surprise.

Now, Clay reluctantly allowed the feeling of warm sun and sand to fade from his skin. With considerable effort, he dragged his consciousness back to the present, slowly opening his eyes and blinking up at the ceiling.

He could feel his father's gaze upon him. He didn't need to turn his head to know that Ash was watching his every move.

The pain at his peripheral threatened to advance, but Clay counted breaths, keeping it at bay. He didn't need Ash's pep talk to convince him to fight. He _was_ a fighter – had been from the day he was born. And he had no doubt that his brothers would find him. He would fight for _them_, because he knew they wouldn't give up on him, and so he wouldn't give up on them.

Besides, he couldn't stomach the thought of dying due to one of Ash's mistakes. It was already hard enough trying to live outside of his father's shadow – he wasn't about to let it win and pull him under now.

Clay took a grounding breath, fished for every ounce of strength he could find within his body. Once the Colombian returned, he would have one shot, and one shot only to escape. He couldn't get it wrong.

Allowing his gaze to slide towards his father, he turned his head slightly and regarded the stormy-eyed man.

For a handful of beats, neither of them said anything.

Then Clay cleared his throat, found his voice. "Just tell me one thing," he said, breaking the silence, tone low and even. "Is it true, what this man is saying? Did you kill his son?"

Ash didn't reply. The splinter of some unreadable emotion rippled across his features, but it faded quickly. He inclined his chin – a mannerism Clay had come to associate with the arrogant, cold-hearted bastard.

Clay felt a chill run through him, deciding that he already knew the answer. Anger swirled in the pit of his stomach, but now wasn't the time to feed it. The sound of keys jingling at the door snatched both of their attention.

Time was up.

The dark-haired man had returned.

Clay quickly resumed his 'unconscious' position, focusing all his attention on his breathing once more.

_Go time_, he thought grimly, quickly running through his plan in his mind.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Clay's question caught Ash off-guard, but he managed to keep his reaction in check.

Of course, the boy would focus on what the Colombian had said. Of course, he wouldn't leave it alone. Clay was far too stubborn for that. He cared too much for his own damned good, relentlessly pursuing justice even when it was a lost cause. Irritation sparked through him. One day, Ash thought bitterly, Clay would learn that caring was dangerous, and it would be his undoing.

Perhaps, that day would be today.

Before either of them could say anything else, the sound of keys met their ears. In the briefest moment it took for Ash's gaze to skip to the door, Clay had closed his eyes again, feigning unconsciousness once more.

Ash set his jaw, meeting the Colombian's shadowed eyes as the dark-haired man stepped into the room. The man had held his distance from the older Spenser – possibly deliberately – making it difficult for Ash to have a shot at him.

Any chance they had of escape, rested solely in Clay's hands.

And Ash loathed that.

The Colombian regarded Clay's unmoving form, and Ash caught the glint of a blade in his hand. A booted foot jerked out and caught Clay roughly in the side, hard enough to bruise already bruised ribs.

Clay's body remained limp, rolling lifelessly with the movement.

Ash huffed silently. He refused to feel impressed. Clay was an expert in trickery - every SEAL was. Building smoke screens was part and parcel of their job.

The Colombian smirked. "Well," he stated flatly, eyes fixed on the rise and fall of Clay's chest. "I suppose I will have to end him while he's unconscious, after all."

Ash offered no reaction, and the Colombian's gaze fixed on him.

The man tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing, assessing. "Either you are very good at hiding your emotions," he observed. "Or you really are a monster, and you don't care at all for your own son."

Ash couldn't help it. The corner of his lip curled slightly into a splinter of a wry smile. Perhaps he _was _a monster. He'd been called worse. It amused him that he wouldn't be offering the man the satisfaction he was obviously craving.

The dark-haired man's attention was caught on Ash, his eyes resting upon the older SEAL for another moment.

A moment which Clay seized, and used to his advantage.

It happened so fast. One second, Clay was stretched out, lifeless. The next, his body jerked, and he swept his bound ankles towards the man's feet.

The Colombian went down, hard, balance suddenly toppled by Clay's swift kick. He lost the knife, blade clinking against the concrete. He scrambled to get himself upright, cursing at the sudden attack.

Clay didn't waste any time. Bending his knees and bucking, he threw his lower half as high as he could, spine lifting from the floor. He opened his knees on the decent, catching the man's head between them and slamming them together around his neck, pulling the Colombian to the ground.

Ash watched the man thrash, caught between Clay's knees like an animal in a trap.

Clay's whole body shook with the effort, veins visible along his neck, teeth grit as he continued to squeeze his knees together as hard as he could.

The man continued to fight.

But Clay held firm.

Finally, the dark-haired man lost consciousness, and Clay fell back against the concrete, face draining of color and looking like he was about to do the same.

"Hey," Ash barked, not one for praise, "stay with it, boy." He could see that the man was still breathing. "Clock's ticking. Get those damned keys before he wakes."

Clay threw a scowl.

Ash ignored the look.

Hastily, Clay drew the man's body towards him with his knees, and then used his bound feet. Luck was on their side, and the keys had come loose from the Colombian's pocket, half dangling out. Clay managed to snag them with his teeth, gripping and jerking them free. The chains binding his cuffed wrists to the wall were frustratingly short, but after a great deal of grunting, muttered curses, and neck straining, he managed to hook a finger into the loop of the keyring.

"Come on, come on," Ash muttered, watching Clay fumble with, and nearly drop, the keys.

Finally, the cuff around Clay's left wrist popped free, and he hastily shook it off. Within another moment he had the right cuff unlocked.

Ash watched the younger man scramble to a sitting position, taking a moment to balance himself, before grabbing the discarded knife and cutting through the rope that bound his ankles.

Clay half stumbled, half dragged himself across the floor, giving their unconscious captor a wide berth. He quickly set about releasing Ash's binds.

Ash watched his son work, feeling only the slightest bit of remorse for what he was about to do.

Clay believed the Colombian's story. There was no way he would just let it go. The boy was a liability, and Ash had far too much to lose.

As soon as the cuffs came off, Ash pushed to his feet, spinning and catching Clay swiftly across his jaw with a fist.

Clay staggered back, dazed, crumpling hard against the wall.

Ash snatched up a cuff, and in one fluid motion snapped it around Clay's wrist.

Clay tried to push him off, but Ash threw himself back and out of the way - out of reach of Clay's free arm and kicking legs.

Their gaze locked, and for a moment they froze, panting, blue eyes burning as they coldly regarded one another.

Ash retreated a couple of steps, turned, and spat on their still unconscious captor. Then he jingled the keys and allowed them to fall to the floor – just out of Clay's reach.

If Clay was half the operator the Navy thought him to be, then he would find a way to reach them.

Heartless? Ash thought it rather generous. He observed Clay's face, trying to read the expression there.

Confusion. Pain. Anger.

Betrayal.

Ash's own expression remained neutral, his heart unfeeling. He broke eye contact and turned towards the exit. "I'll leave the door unlocked," he announced, as if he were doing Clay a favor.

Clay didn't reply - his silence washing heavily against his father's back.

Ash stepped from the room, leaving Clay alone with the mad man. It wasn't the first time he'd abandoned his son.

But it would be the last.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks so much again for all the kind comments :) **

**On we go ...**

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Four-thirty PM, and traffic was at its worst. Jason's left leg jiggled anxiously, urgency sparking through him, threatening to ignite at any moment. He fought against the rising panic, against the pit in his gut that nearly tipped him over the edge. He attempted to measure his breathing - failed. Attempted to will himself calm by focusing on the frantic swish-swish of the wipers against the van's windshield – failed once more.

_God damn it, Spenser, you'd better not be dead_.

He wasn't really cursing the kid. It was fear talking. Every possible worst-case scenario he could imagine was tumbling through his mind, taunting him.

They still didn't know why Clay had been taken, and whether his father was behind it. Their boy could be unharmed - or he could be in pieces. They could get there in time – or they could be too late.

Or, it could be a dead end, which would admittedly be worse.

Jason's gaze shifted across to Ray, who was driving. His 2IC expertly navigated traffic, expression set in fierce concentration, lips pursed. In the rear mirror, the rest of the team were visible, rigid and silent - Trent next to Brock, who steadied Cerb between his knees, and then Sonny and Vic in the row behind them, gazes locked on the congested road ahead.

The atmosphere in the van was an elastic band, stretched to its limit – ready to either slingshot or snap.

Davis had given them the directions to the warehouse. Blackburn had pulled some strings, had given them the all clear to go after their boy. They had suited up in record time, flown out the door and straight into one of the base's vans, leaving the parking lot in a screech of tires.

Jason clutched his phone, palms sweaty and knuckles white. Davis and Blackburn had remained on base, monitoring the intersections around the warehouse. They would call if there was any sign of the van with the blue stripe.

Jason's chest felt tight, his throat painfully constricted. What would they find, once they arrived?

"We'll find him," Ray offered quietly, as if sensing Jason's heightened anxiety.

Jason had no doubt that they would. He just wasn't sure he was prepared for _how_ they would find Spenser.

It had been pointed out to Jason - by his daughter, of all people - that he might have just a little bit of a soft spot for Clay. He'd denied it, of course. But Emma had a knack for realizing things, long before they'd even appeared on his own radar, and it hadn't taken long for him to reluctantly admit that she was right.

Clay wasn't simply a kid he'd drafted nearly two years ago. Nor was he just a shining new hopeful, destined to follow in Jason's footsteps as Bravo One someday. Jason felt a type of parental protectiveness towards the younger man, almost matching what he felt for his own two children. Perhaps it was because Ash Spenser had done such a lousy job as a father, and the position was wide open. Perhaps it was because in Clay, he saw a younger version of himself. Whatever the case, it had started well before Clay had officially joined Bravo – beginning as a small spark, rapidly growing in intensity each day since then; unexpected but not entirely unwelcome.

Jason stared out the rain-streaked window, mind drifting back to that terrible morning, back when Clay was still in Green Team – the first time he'd felt an ounce of protectiveness towards the kid. The teams had gathered in the base's cafeteria, listening to Adam speak about Brian Armstrong's tragic death, shockwaves rippling through them.

In front of his brothers, Jason had remained stoic. He'd muttered harsh words about lessons and loss. But as he'd stood to leave, his gaze had traveled across the room to meet Clay's, and he'd halted in his tracks, barbed demeanor crumbling.

There, before him, wasn't the cocky, overconfident pipe-hitter he'd come to know; but a young man who'd been abandoned by far too many people in his life, looking terribly vulnerable and alone.

Perhaps it was the father in him, Jason reflected, that had carried his gaze past Clay's well-worn mask, to see the lost boy hiding behind the bravado. And he'd resolved, then and there, not to allow any other team to draft the kid. Not under _any_ circumstances. He'd offered Clay a small parting nod - a silent promise. And Clay had returned the gesture, completely unaware of Jason's private resolution.

Now, as he scrubbed a hand over stinging eyes, emotions threatened to overwhelm him. It was one thing to lose a team mate in the heat of battle – it was another, entirely, to lose them at home, where they should have been safe.

Double checking the map coordinates, he chewed his lip as he glanced at the dashboard clock. They were still ten minutes out.

Sonny must have sensed his impatience, because the gruff Texan piped up from the back. "Get me an RPG, I'll clear us a God-damned path."

Normally someone would have had a comeback, attempted to diffuse Sonny's fieriness.

But not today.

Brock, normally reserved, broke through the heavy silence that attempted to engulf them once more. "Screw an RPG," he growled. "Get me a fucking tank."

There was muttered agreement, and Jason didn't argue.

It felt like they were moving in slow motion, though they were traveling as fast as they possibly could to get to their boy.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Mateo came to with a splitting headache, and a fire in the pit of his stomach. He coughed, his throat bruised, and rolled, quickly pulling himself up onto hands and knees.

Taking a deep breath, he braced against the wall, and then straightened slowly. Turning, he surveyed the empty shackles where Clay had been restrained, not at all surprised to find them hanging loose upon the floor, a piece of roughly cut rope discarded beside them.

Anger boiled within him. His breath came jaggedly through his nose. He'd been a fool, underestimating the younger man. He kicked himself for not killing Clay sooner.

Pushing off from the wall, he turned to where Ash Spenser had sat, not expecting to find anyone there either.

But, there was someone there.

Mateo faltered, his heart skipping a beat. It took him a moment to process what he was seeing.

Clay Spenser, his right wrist cuffed to the wall, sat glaring at him through the dim light of the small room.

Mateo reflexively took a step back, ensuring there was ample room between himself and the young SEAL, not wanting a repeat of Clay's earlier attack.

For a moment, they silently regarded one another.

Mateo's mind finally caught up, and he allowed a small, bitter laugh. "It seems you were right," he stated, voice hollow. He nodded to the locked cuff. "Your father really doesn't care for you at all."

Clay didn't respond. His breathing was hitched, and more than one cut trailed blood down his bruised and battered torso - crimson lines ending at the waist of his jeans. There was a chilling numbness lining his expression. His blue eyes shone with anger and ice.

Mateo's gaze flicked between Clay, the keys on the floor, and the door. It was puzzling, that Ash hadn't killed him. The soulless bastard had had the chance, and yet he'd fled like a frightened rabbit, throwing his son to the wolf. Was this another trap? Mateo decided to take his chances, and cautiously made his way out of the room.

Beyond the doorway, Ash was nowhere to be seen. There were no sirens in the distance to indicate that the older Spenser had notified the police, and both Mateo's vehicles were still parked where he'd left them.

The man had, indeed, run. Like the coward he was.

A heavy sense of failure threatened to overcome Mateo. He swallowed down his frustration at having lost his one chance to avenge his wife and son. Closing his eyes briefly, he begged their forgiveness.

Opening his eyes, he blinked back hot tears. He would see them both again soon. This long, painful road would end today. It had to. It had been long enough.

His gaze darted back towards the room where Clay was held. He knew what he had to do. He'd come this far, and he needed to finish what he'd started. If he couldn't have both Spenser's, then at least one was better than none.

Moving quickly towards his van, Mateo popped open one of the back doors and removed his dart gun. There was barely a full dose left. His eyes skipped to his hand gun. He hadn't wanted to use the single bullet for either of his captives, but, things hadn't exactly gone to plan …

The rain hammered hard against the warehouse roof.

Mateo took a moment to weigh his options, and to decide what to do.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Sonny noted the EMT's standing by, a block back from the warehouse, and his stomach threatened to drop through the floor. Normally, he was fired up going into an op, ready to kick down doors and bust some balls. But this was different.

This wasn't an op.

They weren't overseas.

This was _Clay_.

They pulled up to the warehouse, hard and fast. Jason gave the order and they wasted no time spilling from the van, weapons aimed and ready.

Sonny fell in behind his team leader. Brock was up front, Cerb on leash. The canine tugged towards the building's main door, nose to the ground.

At Jason's order, Trent quickly set the explosives. They breached the entry, and fluidly poured into the main part of the warehouse.

The first thing Sonny noticed was the parked van - white, with a blue stripe. Jason order Vic and Ray to check it over, whilst the rest of them continued towards a door at the rear of the building, barely missing a beat.

Sonny's heart pounded with his every step, eyes darting around, scanning for movement down the barrel of his gun. Cerb eagerly led them on, whining as he pulled his leash, causing Sonny to feel a churning mixture of dread and hope as they approached the metal door.

Jason hesitated a moment, hand grasping the handle. He cast a quick glance behind him, eyes locking with Sonny's. None of them felt at all emotionally prepared for what they might find on the other side. But they had to know.

Sonny swallowed painfully.

The door was unlocked, and Jason threw it open. They rushed inside with weapons raised.

Sonny's mind took a moment to process the small room. He blinked around at the damp-smelling, dimly lit space.

It was empty.

No sign of Clay.

His heart plummeted.

Cerb's whining increased in intensity, and all their eyes fell upon the dog as he sniffed and nudged a pair of chains. The chains were bolted to the wall, open cuffs at the ends. There was blood on the floor.

Sonny felt his stomach roll.

"Clay was here," Brock stated certainly, observing his dog's reaction.

Jason crouched down, eyeing the blood. It wasn't much, some spatters here and there. But any amount was unacceptable, if it belonged to their brother. "It's reasonably fresh," he stated, touching a drop with a gloved finger.

Ray appeared in the doorway, paled slightly at the sight of the restraints and the blood. "Van's empty. Engine's cold. Hasn't been driven in the last few hours."

Metal clinked, and Sonny turned to see Trent toeing another set of restraints on the opposite wall.

"No blood here," the medic reported, scanning the floor. "Doesn't mean these ones weren't used though. Could have had Ash on this side, Clay on the other?"

The thought made Sonny feel ill. His mind whirled, as he tried to work out what could have led someone to lock father and son in a room together like this. He shook his head clear. "Question is, where the hell are they now?"

"Guys!"

Vic's shout had them rapidly exiting the small room. They gathered where their rookie was crouched, a few feet from the parked van.

"What've you got, Lopez?" Jason asked, moving to crouch beside him.

Vic looked up at the others, pointed to some drops of liquid on the concrete. "Oil," he stated.

Sonny stepped forward, eyeing the drops. "Motor oil?" From the looks of it, it was as fresh as the blood in the other room.

Vic nodded. "There was another vehicle here. Recently."

Jason pushed up from the floor, face stony as he drew his phone from his pocket. He motioned for the others to head back to their vehicle. He swung his eyes around the empty space one last time, before jogging after them, phone to his ear.

Sonny glanced back towards Jason as they neared their van. The rain had eased to a drizzle, wet gravel crunching under their feet as they exited the warehouse. Jason was speaking low and fast into his cell as he walked.

Clay had been here. And someone had left with him, possibly only mere minutes before Bravo had arrived. How cruel that they had come so close to finding their brother, only to have him snatched away again. Whether Clay was still alive or not wasn't a thought that Sonny was ready to entertain. Urgency pulsed through him. They needed a new lead, and they needed it fast.

"Check the footage from the closest intersections, see if you can find anything," Jason commanded into the phone as he hopped up into the front passenger seat beside Ray. "They can't have got far."

Ray revved the engine to life.

"Let the EMT's know to follow us." Tension weighed Jason's tone. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "Our boy is most likely hurt."

Sonny felt his knuckles tingle at the words, thoughts flashing back to the blood on the floor.

Jason blew out an unsteady breath. "We need to find him. _Now_."

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Davis was used to working under pressure. She was also used to shifting gears at short notice, rolling with the punches. Plans rarely went to plan, and part of her job was trouble shooting under difficult – sometimes _near impossible_ – circumstances, finding a way forward when no obvious path presented itself.

Normally, she excelled at her job. But today, her confidence was wavering. She'd worked plenty of high stakes ops, and yet, today the stakes seemed even higher.

This wasn't an op.

They weren't overseas.

This was _Clay_.

Blackburn was breathing down her neck, phone to his ear. Bravo had found the warehouse empty, and Jason was close to losing his shit. Blackburn's tone was clipped, commands tight, as he ordered her to check the traffic feed from the past hour from the intersections close by the warehouse. She didn't take his bluntness personally. She could only imagine what Jason was saying on the other end. Both men were seasoned operators, experts in what they did – and yet, today the cracks were showing, their emotions seeping through the seams.

Scanning the feeds as quickly and thoroughly as she could, Davis batted away the new worry she held for her friend, as well as the blow of getting the boys to the warehouse too late. From the small parcels of information Blackburn had relayed to her, she'd gathered that there was evidence suggesting Clay was hurt, and that he had been moved very recently. Much to her dismay, the van with the blue stripe had been left behind. Now, it appeared, she was searching for a new needle in a new haystack.

Alpha One and Two hovered stiffly nearby, offering support and hastily helping to search the traffic feeds.

"Come on, come on, come on," Davis muttered, feeling each precious second tick away, amplifying her sense of despair.

She could hear Jason barking down the line at Blackburn. The commander pinched the bridge of his nose, holding the phone slightly away from his ear.

They were doing the best they could.

It wasn't enough.

Out of the blue, an alarm went off, catching Davis off guard. It took her a moment to work out where it was coming from. Her eyes locked on a message flashing on the screen of the laptop Derek was sat at, and her breath caught in her throat.

"The fuck is that?" Derek exclaimed, throwing her a look.

Blackburn shouldered his way in, lowering the phone and ordering Jason to stand by.

"Ash's car is on the move," Davis relayed, feeling her stomach clench, a thousand possibilities flying into her mind. Her gaze darted between it, and the traffic feeds, as she debated what to do.

Blackburn made the decision for her, roughly disconnecting the laptop with the tracker alarm and handing it to Derek. "Go," he ordered, nodding to Alpha's 2IC.

Derek didn't hesitate, Full Metal also pushing up from his chair and grabbing his things.

"Someone is driving that car," Blackburn stated. "We need to know who."

"On it," Metal nodded.

Davis didn't watch them leave. She trusted the two men with her life, just like she did any of her Bravo boys. She could trust them with Clay's life as well. Her attention locked back on the traffic feeds.

Closing her eyes briefly, she drew a steadying breath. Blackburn leaned in beside her and offered a grounding look. It was a look that reminded her that she was capable of anything – a silent vote of confidence. If there was something to be found on those traffic images, she would find it.

Blackburn informed Jason that Ash's car was on the move, and that Derek and Full Metal had left to pursue it. Davis could hear the explosive cursing that erupted from Bravo One's end of the line, and she imagined Jason demanding that his team also follow the vehicle.

She clicked through images, all from the past hour. Frustration and failure threatened to crash over her once more, but she ignored it.

And then - something caught her eye.

Davis froze.

Mentally stumbling, she clicked back an image. Backwards. Forwards. Backwards once more.

"Huh," she breathed, feeling her heart skip a beat.

Hastily she ran the plate of the vehicle that had caught her attention.

Her heartrate picked up as her search returned a result:

_Emmanuel Garcia._

Davis twisted to face their commander, hope swelling. "Same surname," she stated, pointing to the search results for the vehicle registration. A residential address was listed, and Blackburn wasted no time relaying it to Jason. "Could be a coincidence," she continued. "But I doubt it." She flicked back to the traffic images, pointing to the vehicle in question – a black sedan, nothing obviously remarkable about it. But …

"You seeing what I'm seeing?" She asked, raising a brow.

Blackburn caught on straight away, spearing her with a weighty look.

The sedan had been traveling away from the warehouse. As it had passed through the nearest intersection, it had both its tail lights. But by the second intersection, only two blocks later, one tail light was out.

"If I had to bet," Davis stated, "I'd wager someone's in that trunk."

Blackburn blew out a breath. Clapped her on the shoulder. "Someone who's trying to send a signal," he agreed.

Davis' heart pounded in her ears. They could only hope that it was Clay. Her eyes flicked to the image time stamps. "Black sedan's got a fifteen-minute lead," she reported, hurriedly trying to trace the vehicle's path. From the direction it was traveling, it appeared to be heading towards the residential address listed for Emmanuel Garcia.

Blackburn straightened, directing her to track it to its destination - although she was already on it.

"Step on it," he ordered Jason down the line. "They're not getting past us this time."


	7. Chapter 7

**Firstly, thank you again for all the lovely comments and encouragement! Secondly, I apologise for the fact that this chapter is short. I was going to continue it, but I felt like I wanted to leave Clay's POV as a stand-alone. Hopefully I wont be too long with the next bit. I think there'll be another 2 chapters to this story. Thanks again for reading :) All mistakes are mine.**

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Clay had attempted to fight – though he'd known it was pointless. He'd still been in shock from his father abandoning him, when his captor had come at him with a dart gun.

As much as he'd tried, there'd been no changing the fact that he was chained to a wall, with nowhere to go. His only hope of escape had vanished, along with Ash.

The dart had hit him in the bicep of his unchained arm. Possibly the worst place it could have landed, as there was no way to pluck it free. Not that removing it quickly would have made much of a difference. Within fifteen seconds, he'd felt the drug weaken him – his vision blurring, muscles relaxing. But, unlike the last time, it didn't knock him out completely. And the dark-haired man, upon realizing this, finished the job swiftly with the butt of his gun.

Darkness …

The next thing Clay had known, he'd blinked his eyes open just in time to see what looked like the lid of a trunk closing above him.

More darkness – though this time it was from lack of light, not lack of consciousness.

There was the sound of an engine, and he'd jostled abruptly with the vehicle's sudden movement. Drifting somewhere between dreams and reality, Clay had scrambled to piece together his surroundings, and hold tight to any scrap of control he still had over his own body.

He was fucked.

It had served him right for trusting Ash, when the man had betrayed him, again. He'd been fooled more than once, and the shame rested squarely on him.

Clay had then tested his range of movement. He'd registered that his hands were tied behind his back, his ankles once again bound. Based on the small amount of light dimly illuminating the seal around the trunk lid, he'd concluded that he was facing towards the interior of the vehicle.

With disjointed thoughts, and body barely cooperating, he'd resorted to the only thing he could think of - kicking backwards with his bound heels, towards what he'd guessed was one of the tail lights. With any luck, he'd be able to push it out, and hopefully grab somebody's attention.

Unfortunately, the effort had quickly become too much.

He'd barely kicked three times, before he'd toppled away from reality - and back into disjointed, troubled dreams.

Now, he stumbled along, mostly held up by his captor, as they made their way towards the back door of what appeared to be a modest, run-down brick house.

Clay threw all his energy into one last attempt to break free, thrashing about wildly and crying out before they reached the door. But he was too weak, and his efforts were abruptly ended with a sharp fist to the jaw, which left him tasting blood.

Struggling not to black out, Clay couldn't maintain his balance, and his knees gave way. He would have plunged down onto the cracked concrete porch if the dark-haired man hadn't grabbed him roughly and dragged him the rest of the way.

Blinking dazedly at his dragging boots, Clay's chin bumped against his chest as he was pulled backwards, the man's arms hooked under his. Cracked concrete turned to worn carpet, and then to stained tiles as he was taken further into the house.

The light was dim, the air stale. The house had a dirty, closed-up feel about it, unkept and potentially un-lived in.

Clay tried, but failed, to coordinate his limbs. The drug was still coursing through his system, and the knocks to the head plus exhaustion had taken the last of his fight.

Dimly, as he was dragged into what appeared to be a grimy bathroom, he realized that this was it. This was the way he was going to go out. Not on the battlefield, like he'd always imagined. But here, in some stranger's home, in Virginia Beach.

At least, he thought dully, he _thought_ he was still in Virginia Beach.

He was roughly lifted, and unceremoniously dumped face first into something cold and unforgiving.

Clay felt the breath knocked from him, as he breathed jaggedly against the stained enamel of the empty bath tub. He attempted to lift his head, but he had no strength left. With considerable effort, he managed to turn his face to the side.

His wrists were raised by the rope, and he felt his ankles being lifted. Something was fastened between them, pulling them tight so that he was hog-tied, completely unable to move. He felt his back protest at the unnatural angle, but there was nothing he could do about it.

A part of Clay wanted to pass out then and there, and not wake up. It would probably be better than whatever this mad man had planned for him. He felt guilty, because he wanted so badly to hold on for his brothers. But the reality was, his team mates might not even know where he was. They might not know he was in trouble.

They might not even be coming.

Swallowing bile, Clay felt pain travel through his chest. It had nothing to do with his injuries. His brothers, his team, they were the best thing that had ever happened to him. It hurt that he would never be able to tell them that. Or say thank you.

Gathering what was left of his strength, Clay fished for his voice. It was husky, the words slurred together. "What's your name?" He wasn't even sure why he was asking.

The man wasn't visible, but Clay knew that he was there, heard him moving around.

"It doesn't matter," came the quiet reply after a moment.

Clay swallowed roughly, throat painfully dry. "I can help you get justice for you family," he offered, in a last-ditch attempt to appeal to the man's humanity.

But the man just laughed bitterly, and then allowed a heavy pause to linger between them. "There was never going to be any justice," he answered.

And even in Clay's semi-conscious state, he could tell that it was pointless trying to negotiate. This man had lost too much. He wouldn't, and most likely couldn't, be reasoned with.

Clay felt panic tingle through him. It was distant, dulled by the drug. "My father wont care, you know," he muttered weakly.

The man released a small huff. "Maybe he wont," he stated, tone once again eerily hollow. "But maybe he will. Maybe one day he'll wake up and his conscience will catch up to him. Or, perhaps the law will catch up to him, if it's discovered he left you to die. Either way, he _will_ pay. If not in this life, then in the next one."

Clay's stomach rolled. His heart pounded in his ears. It was no use trying to calm his breathing, he knew he would be dead soon and none of it would matter anymore. He'd always thought he would be brave in the face of death, when his time came. But now, he felt his bravado stripped back, leaving him exposed and terribly raw. Despite the haze of drugs, his throat constricted, and panic swirled.

There was so much more he wanted to do with his life. A small sob broke free, muffled against the side of the tub. Clay turned his face downwards again, feeling the warmth of his breath as it came jaggedly through his nose. Hot tears leaked into his lashes.

There was the click of a lighter. Moments later, the stench of cigarette smoke tingled Clay's nostrils. He nearly gagged, stomach hyper-sensitive. His heartrate picked up speed, if that was even possible.

"My son didn't die quickly," the man said. "And so, neither will you."

Clay's mouth felt horribly dry. He braced himself, trying to guess what the man's next move might be. But between the drug and the panic, he was barely hanging on. Once again, he wished to just pass out.

But no such luck came.

With a rough jolt, the man gripped one of Clay's bound arms. The rope was pushed down his arm, as far as it would allow. A sharp pain blazed suddenly across his wrist.

Clay's eyes flew open, wide with shock. He cried out, tried to wriggle away. But there was no escape.

Pain burst across his other wrist, stealing his breath once again, and Clay could feel the telltale warmth of fresh blood seeping down onto his exposed back, running down his sides.

"The harder you struggle, the quicker you will bleed out," the man stated casually.

Clay willed his pounding heart calm, his breathing steady. But it was no use. He could feel the stickiness against his sides, dripping around the waist of his jeans.

The man sat quietly, watching, puffing acrid cigarette smoke into the small room.

Minutes passed.

Despite Clay's best efforts to slow his heartrate and the blood leaking from his veins, the world, and his life, began to dim.

His ears began to ring, and pressure built in his head, until it felt like it was about to explode.

Dizziness came in an overwhelming wave.

And then –

A gunshot? And a familiar voice – a voice that Clay thought he would never hear again.

"I got you, buddy," it said.

Clay felt himself smile, warmth and recognition flooding through him. With the splinter of strength he had left, he jerkily tilted his head as far as he could to gaze up at the man standing at the edge of the tub, reaching down towards him with strong arms.

"I got you," Brian repeated gently. "Let's go home."


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks so much again to anyone still reading this! And for your kind words. Nearly there :) Hopefully I wont be too long with the last chapter, but real life is a little loud at the moment. All mistakes here are mine. Thanks for reading :)**

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Jason had spent half the journey trying not lose his shit down the phone at Blackburn, arguing that they should be pursuing Ash's suddenly moving vehicle instead of heading to an address that may or may not be relevant. But the commander had stood firm, insisting that the vehicle Davis had identified could indeed be carrying Clay, and so Jason had eventually given in, accepting that Blackburn was probably right. Full Metal and Derek were quite capable of locating Ash's vehicle, and handling whoever was driving it. Jason was just desperate to find his missing brother, and his normally clear thinking was compromised - clouded with a sense of foreboding that he couldn't quite shake.

Now, as they pulled up to the single-story brick dwelling, Jason's sense of unease clicked up another notch. There was something off about the property. Blinds were drawn across every window, leaves accumulated against the front door, and a sea of dead grass, weeds, and scraggly rose bushes stood in place of a front garden. A cracked concrete driveway ran along one side of the property, ending at a rusty garage down the back.

Jason tore his gaze from the weed-strewn driveway, attempting to shake his head clear. Bad feelings were normally Sonny's thing, not his.

"Alright boys," he stated, grabbing his weapon. "Let's do this."

Seatbelts were unfastened, doors popped. The EMTs had pulled up but remained in their vehicle, for now. Their presence reminded Jason that at best, they would leave with Clay on a gurney – and at worst …

"Ray," Jason said as he slid from the van, refusing to spend any more time thinking about worst-case-scenarios. "You, Trent, and Vic go through the front."

Bravo Two gave a tight nod.

Jason swung his eyes to Sonny and Brock. "You two, with me. We'll take the back."

Without another word, they stealthily approached the building, splitting fluidly into two groups.

Cerb once again took the lead, pulling eagerly.

Once Jason and his group reached the back of the house, they saw a sedan parked close by the back porch, tucked out of sight of the street. Cerb whined, nose to the ground, picking up pace and quickly bypassing the vehicle, heading straight for the back door.

Jason felt his gut clench. He'd observed their furry team mate on enough occasions to know when the dog had a strong lead. And right now, that was most definitely the case.

Without another thought, they entered the building. A hallway ran straight through the heart of the house, and at its end Jason could see the rest of his team clearing the front two rooms.

Cerb led them straight through the kitchen to a closed door with a curved silver handle. There he halted, turning and pinning Jason with an intense, brown-eyed look that quite clearly said, _He's here_.

Jason felt dread punch through him. He was suddenly caught between wanting to charge through the door - and not being ready to know what waited on the other side.

Brock and Cerb quickly stepped out of the way.

Jason shook the hesitation, and he and Sonny flanked the door, shoulders pressed against peeling wallpaper, weapons ready.

The others had finished clearing the front rooms, and now stood in the hallway behind Brock, eyes bright with the realization that this was most likely it.

Jason's fingers trembled as he grabbed the door handle. He traded a look with Sonny. Whatever hope he held for Clay to be alive and in one piece, it was either about to swell - or come crashing down. He held his breath, praying for the former outcome, and shoved the door open.

There was barely time to register an unfamiliar man standing, facing them, with a gun held beneath his own chin.

"You're too late," the man stated darkly, before suddenly squeezing the trigger.

Blood exploded towards the ceiling and across the cracked mirror - the sound ricocheting around the otherwise silent house.

Jason watched the man crumple in a heap upon the tiled floor. He would have felt shock, but his attention was grabbed by the sight of a tub against the far wall - namely, what lay _in_ said tub. Without another thought, he lurched into the small room, ignoring the stranger's body.

_Oh God –_

His legs gave way and he fell to his knees beside the tub, forgetting how to breathe.

_Clay -_

Vaguely he heard Sonny yelling, desperately calling for Trent, the EMTs, _anyone _to get their ass in here and help.

Clay lay bound, unmoving, in the tub, covered in blood from his still oozing wrists.

Jason scrambled to reach towards his brother - _his kid_. Frantically, he felt for a pulse, relief crashing over him as he found it; faint – and growing fainter – but still somehow there.

"I got you, buddy," he whispered, pushing up, awkwardly sliding his hands under Clay's armpits.

Trent appeared beside him, quickly grabbing Clay's bound legs at the knees.

Together they gently lifted their boy out of the blood-slicked tub.

Sonny made quick work of slicing through the rope binds, before helping them turn Clay over so that they could lower him onto the ground.

Jason couldn't tear his eyes away from Clay's too-pale face. There were bruises, cuts, and what appeared to be burn marks across his torso. It wasn't until Sonny gripped him by the elbow that he realized he was holding tight to one of Clay's hands. Hastily he let it go, allowing Trent to hurriedly wrap and put pressure on the wounds.

Footsteps thundered down the hall, and the EMTs crowded in.

Jason stumbled back, half-guided by Sonny. "Come on, man," the Texan urged, though his voice was distant, far too quiet and noticeably shaking. "We gotta give them room to work."

Jason nodded jerkily, spinning to face the hallway. He raised trembling hands over his face and scrubbed, as if trying to clear the image of Clay hog-tied in a tub with his wrists sliced. A steady hand fell upon his shoulder, squeezed, and Jason peered over his steepled fingers to see Ray staring at him.

"Ash Spenser isn't here," Bravo Two stated the obvious.

Jason let his hands fall. Ash Spenser was the least of his concerns right now. A small part of him hoped that Ash was in a ditch somewhere, but he would never acknowledge that out loud.

Ray's gaze skipped to the bathroom, where Trent and the EMTs were working. He opened his mouth, perhaps to offer some form of reassurance - but he was cut off by a sharp call from Bravo Four.

"_He's not breathing_ -"

Jason felt his heart stop. His own breath suddenly and painfully caught in his throat, and he whipped back around to see one of the EMTs begin aggressive CPR on Clay's horribly lifeless-looking form.

"No, no, no -" Sonny braced against the wall, eyes wide.

"_Pulse is gone -"_

Jason felt his knees threaten to buckle, the small amount of relief he'd previously felt suddenly washed out from under him. A shattering thought barreled through him -

What if Clay died, without ever knowing that they'd come for him.

Vision blurring with tears, Jason forced himself to watch the frantic scene in the bathroom, even though it was brutally painful. He didn't dare look away.

Clay had been through hell, without his brothers by his side. And Jason would be damned if he'd step away from the kid now, just because he was completely terrified that this would be the last memory he would have of Bravo Six.

Ray stood, frozen, to his left, a muttered prayer spilling from his lips.

Sonny spun away from the doorway, eyes brimming with tears, first suddenly connecting with the wall.

"_Clear-"_

The sound of the defibrillator shot through the hallway, causing Cerb to startle and whine. Brock gently pulled his dog back and crouched to wrap his arms around the canine, burying his face in fur.

Further back, Vic leaned against a wall, looking pale and lost.

Jason watched as Trent once again checked Clay's vitals.

"_Still no pulse. God damn it, Spenser, come on …"_

Jason bit his lip so hard that he tasted copper.

"_Let's go again. Clear -"_

Another shock rang out.

Sonny returned to lean against the doorway, breaths hitching.

Jason measured his own breaths, willing Clay to do the same.

"Come on, Goldilocks," Sonny pleaded. "You're too stubborn for this. _Come on_."

Trent looked up, and Jason caught the shattered look in his eyes. Reflexively, he shook his head, firmly rejecting what the medic's gaze was suggesting.

_No._

Clay _wasn't_ gone.

Propelled by desperation, Jason stepped closer to the doorway. He found his voice, did his best to hold it steady as he directed his words towards their youngest team member. "Don't you dare give up, do you hear me?" He leaned closer to Clay, knowing that most likely the kid couldn't hear him. "You fight, you got that? You _fight_." The steadiness in his voice wavered, but he caught it. "That's an order, Bravo Six."

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Derek loved Full Metal like a brother. The towering man was an amazing team leader; fiercely loyal to those he cared about – and simply _fierce_ to those he did not. He was known for his steely gaze, gravelly voice, and commanding stature. Out of all the people Derek knew, Full Metal could say the most in the least amount of words. And he got his kicks scaring the shit out of people - including his own 2IC.

Derek gripped the laptop, knuckles white, as he attempted to track the signal from Ash's vehicle, whilst not losing the contents of his stomach. "We're not in a fucking war zone," he grit, biting back a string of curses as they narrowly missed being t-boned by another vehicle.

Full Metal barely flinched, but his lip twitched into a small smile.

"You drive like a maniac," Derek muttered, bracing as they squealed around a corner.

"I'm efficient," came the correction.

They were quickly coming up on Ash's vehicle, and as they'd drawn closer it hadn't taken them long to work out where the mystery driver was headed; the airport.

"He's entering the multi-story parking," Derek reported. "Go left up ahead. Once he's in there we'll have a hard time finding him."

Full Metal didn't reply, just stomped harder on the gas. He nearly took out the boom gate as they entered the parking lot – and probably would have, if Derek hadn't urged him to stop and take a ticket. "Let's not cause any more damage than we have to, yeah?"

Full Metal glared. "If it is actually Ash Spenser in that car, I'll be causing some damage. To his face. With my fist."

Derek had no doubt.

They sped through the first level, checking for any recently arrived cars. Derek was just about to call Davis to check whether there was any way to hone in on the tracker from within the parking lot, when he spied the familiar figure of Ash Spenser pulling a suitcase from the trunk of his car. "Bingo," he said, indicating their target, sudden anger swelling in his gut.

Full Metal swerved and came to an abrupt halt by the trunk of Ash's vehicle, causing the older Spenser to jump and curse as he was nearly pinned between the two cars.

Derek popped his door, but Full Metal was already out and glaring at Ash.

"Going somewhere?" Alpha One questioned tightly.

Ash slammed the lid of his trunk, attempted to turn and walk away. But Derek was quickly on his other side, trapping him in the narrow space between the two vehicles.

"The trip will have to wait," Derek stated, hands resting on his hips and meeting Ash's cold stare. "You need to come with us."

Ash scoffed, squaring his shoulders. He may have matched the two SEALs in height, but he carried a lot less than half their muscle. Still, he didn't back down. "I don't have to go anywhere with you," he spat.

Derek stood firm, crossing his arms over his chest. "Your son is missing," he growled. "But I'm sure you already knew that. You can either come with us voluntarily and answer some questions, or NCIS will drag your ass off the plane in front of hundreds of people."

Ash continued to glare, jaw set. His expression was professionally stony, but Derek thought he caught the shadow of discomfort flickering behind icy blue eyes.

"Just get in the fucking car," Full Metal ordered. "We can do it the easy way, or the hard way."

Ash threw him a molten look.

"Personally," Alpha One continued, lowering his voice slightly, "I prefer the hard way."

Ash stood his ground. "Are you threatening me?"

Full Metal quirked his lip, took a half step closer. "Yep."

Ash took another moment, iron grip on his suitcase handle. His gaze darted to Derek, as if deciding that he was the more reasonable of the two men. "I want to speak with my lawyer," he stated.

Derek didn't reply, just nodded for Ash to get in the back of their vehicle.

Full Metal stepped back, allowing room for Ash to climb stiffly into the car.

Once the older Spenser was in his seat, Derek fished out his phone to call Blackburn. The commander had already informed them along the way that NCIS were ready to take the case seriously. Derek worried that it might be too little, too late. They would have a lot of questions for Clay's scumbag of a father, that was for sure. He could only hope that it would help them find Clay, if Bravo hadn't already.

Full Metal waited until Ash had his belt on, before leaning into the car and punching the older man in the jaw.

Derek raised a brow, but didn't move to intervene.

"That's from Bravo," Full Metal stated.

Ash exploded into curses and threats, cupping his jaw.

But Full Metal just straightened and slammed the door – effectively shutting out the fiery response.

Derek hit dial on Blackburn's number, catching his team leader's eye over the roof of the car.

"If it turns out Clay's hurt, and Trash Spenser here is responsible," Full Metal's tone was as dangerous as it came. "I'll be damaging more than just his face."

Derek held the phone to his ear. He didn't doubt the truth of that, and it scared the shit out of him.

Ash would be wise to go willingly for questioning, he thought. Because if he didn't, and Full Metal and the rest of Bravo got hold of him – there would most likely be nothing left to bury.


	9. Chapter 9

**Firstly, apologies for taking so long to update. Life has been turned a little upside down, as I can imagine you all understand and are experiencing in your own ways. Lots of love to everyone - we might be from various corners of the world, but we're all in this together. Secondly, this chapter is short. I debated not posting it, but as I'm not sure when I'll be able to add the last bit, I figured I'd share this one now and then finish it off when I can. So there's one more chapter to go :) Thirdly, thank you so much to everyone who's left kind comments. A kind comment can be the difference between someone sharing a fic, and hitting the delete button. So please know I'm very grateful! And Fourthly, to the lovely guest who's left me comments along the way, kindly pointing out everything they dislike about this fic - thank you for letting me know that this is not a realistic scenario, I had no idea, and I've made a mental note to add an extra warning on any future stories that they are strictly for entertainment purposes only.**

**Thanks for reading, and take care everyone - of yourselves, families, and especially your elderly neighbours x**

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Clay leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as he swallowed his last sip of beer, a smile tugging at his lips. The sand was warm around his feet, the gentle ocean breeze kissing his skin, and the rhythmic splash and hiss of the small waves lapping at the shore lulled him nearly to sleep.

Cracking open an eye, he stared at the sparkling horizon. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the sun was beginning to dip towards the azure sea. It would be a beautiful sunset. He had no idea what time it was, but he was happy to sit here until well after the last light faded from the sky. The peace of his surroundings flowed through him with every breath, seeping deep into his bones.

He'd visited this beach many times, but this time, it felt different. This time he was ready to stay.

"I've missed you, man," he admitted quietly, glancing over at Brian.

His best friend sat to his left, also reclined in a beach chair. The darker haired man gave a soft smile, draining the last of his beer and leaning forward to wedge the empty bottle in the sand.

Clay stared into the water, watching the foam from the waves collect against the shore in thin, bubbling lines. His whole body felt tired, heavy, and well overdue for rest. He'd been fighting for so long, he'd forgotten what it felt like to truly relax.

Brian sat with elbows on knees, fingers intertwined. The sunlight glinted off his hair, his lashes. He wore his lucky shirt. He watched the waves for a while. Eventually he released a sigh, turning his gaze towards Clay. "I wish you could stay." Reluctance lined his tone.

Clay lifted a brow, confused. "I'm not going anywhere," he argued, digging his toes deeper into the sand.

But Brian shook his head gently. For a moment, sadness flickered across his features. "No," he countered. "It's not time for you to stay here."

Clay frowned. He had nowhere else to be. Why would he leave? A gull whirled overhead, and he traced its movements, watching it cartwheel, white against blue. He'd had enough of life. And, in a strange way, it felt like life had had enough of him. "The world will go on without me," he muttered, meaning every word.

Brian regarded him thoughtfully, chewing his lip. "You have people who need you," he countered eventually.

But Clay disagreed. He had no family. And his team mates, his brothers, would go on without him. They would find another Bravo Six. His memory would fade, and life would continue. "I'm done," he admitted.

"You know," Brian said, eyes flicking to the ocean. "You might feel that way, but it's not always about you."

Clay leaned back in his chair, flexing his toes against the sand. He felt the edges of his safe-haven crumble slightly at Brian's words. It didn't feel good, and he fought against the sensation.

"Life can be pretty shit, sometimes," Brian reflected.

Clay mumbled his agreement.

"But you have some good people around you," Brian stated. "Sonny, Jason, the rest of your team – they'll be there for you."

Clay felt a pang at the thought of his brothers. He tried to bat it away. He loved them, and he was so grateful for having had them in his life. But, it really was time to let them go.

"They need you," Brian said gently. "Just like I needed you."

Clay refused to meet his best friend's gaze, though he could feel it upon him. He pushed the words away. "They don't need me," he argued.

But Brian stood firm. "Yes, they do."

Clay huffed.

"It's not time for you to leave them," Brian pushed. "Not now. Not like this. Your fight's not over."

Clay frowned. For a moment, Brian's voice changed, didn't quite fit. Clay's gaze finally swung around and locked on his friend.

Brian was fading. He urged again, "You need to _fight_, Clay."

Clay felt his heart skip a beat. Brian's lips were moving, but the voice was wrong. It sounded far away; a lot less like Brian, and a lot more like Jason. Clay clutched at the arms of his chair, dug his feet into the sand. "No," he breathed, clinging to this reality.

But Brian was nearly gone.

"No!" Clay cried, louder this time, thoughts frantic. He didn't want to leave.

The small waves lapping on the beach grew more intense, until they were suddenly licking at his feet.

"Don't make me go back," Clay pleaded. Though he had no idea who he was pleading to. "I'm tired."

But Brian had vanished. And the sea grew darker, louder, and closer.

Clay pushed up from his chair and tried to run, but his feet stuck firm in the sand. The water caught him, and he was roughly dragged down and under.

Before he knew it, he was spiraling, disoriented. Everything hurt. And he was falling – away from his peaceful beach, away from his safe place.

_No –_ He thought frantically, scrambling to get a grip on something, anything, to tether him to this gentle world.

_No!_

But it was too late, and with a sudden jolt and a gasp, Clay was thrust back into his broken body.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Sonny watched the second hand of the clock drift silently past the seven. How many laps had he watched it go, around and around, minutes ticking by until they became hours?

It had been three hours, forty-six minutes and thirty-five seconds since Clay had died on that damned bathroom floor. Well, he'd _technically_ died.

Their boy had been whisked away, EMTs madly working on him and Trent rushing alongside, as they'd struggled to revive him – and keep him that way.

Now, Bravo waited, pale-faced and glassy eyed in the hospital's emergency waiting room, unsure of what news they would eventually receive on Clay's condition.

Naima had been on shift, and she'd rushed to meet them, catching Ray in a fierce embrace before somberly greeting all of them. She'd managed to gather that Clay was being worked on, and that he was at least breathing, and had a pulse. Her words at the time had been gentle, with as much reassurance as she could muster. But Sonny had read between the lines – she wasn't sure whether Clay would make it or not, and she couldn't promise that he would be okay.

"He's lost a lot of blood," she'd admitted quietly.

In other words – their boy was barely holding on.

Sonny had turned away from the group then. He'd sought out a private corner by the vending machine. There he could focus on the clock, giving his mind something to latch on to, while he tried his best not to break down. His insides felt as though they were tearing apart, and he wasn't sure whether he wanted to smash something up or collapse in tears. The others must have realized that he needed the space, because they all wisely left him alone – although they did cast occasional looks his way, each of them fighting their own emotional battles as they struggled to come to grips with what was happening.

Blackburn and Davis had joined them half an hour after the ambulance had rushed Clay in. Their commander had given them the news that Derek and Full Metal had found Ash trying to leave town, and they were handing him over to NCIS. Sonny had felt a tsunami of emotion at that news. But, as much as he hated Ash and wanted desperately to know just what role the bastard had played in the day's events, his attention had to be here and now. His focus had to be on Clay. NCIS would take care of the investigation from here. All Sonny could care about, in this moment, was his little brother.

Skimming his eyes briefly around the room, Sonny fought against the burning lump in his throat and the ache in his chest.

He observed Jason, alternating between standing and pacing, eyes distant and expression as haunted as it had ever been.

Ray sat with Naima by his side, eyes subtly tracking Jason's anxious movements, hands clasped in his lap and a heavy sadness lining his features.

Trent sat beside Brock, both of them slumped in their seats. The medic's gaze threatened to bore a hole through the far side of the room, while Brock repeatedly rubbed fingers over his eyes and temples, looking lost without Cerberus to hold onto.

Vic sat deathly still in a chair, playing with an empty coffee cup, chewing his lip.

And Davis sat by Blackburn, eyes damp, darting a broken look in Sonny's direction every now and then.

Sonny twisted his gaze away, focused back on the clock. The second hand continued its laps, and the minutes ticked by.

Derek and Full Metal arrived. They quietly chatted with Blackburn and Jason before taking up their posts. Metal's eyes found Sonny's, and Alpha One gave a tight nod. Sonny nodded back, accepting the silent offer of support. Part of him wanted to find out what they knew about Clay's father, but he couldn't bring himself to cross the room. There would be time for questions later. Right now, it was taking all of Sonny's energy not to completely lose his shit while he waited. And waited. And waited.

Letting his eyes drift out of focus while he watched the time slip by, Sonny's gut churned. Clay was laying on a bed somewhere, behind those closed doors, without even knowing that his entire team were here rooting for him. Sonny had had a few close calls himself, but each time he'd drawn comfort from the fact that his brothers were close by. Clay had been completely alone today, with no reassurance that his brothers were even looking for him. It destroyed Sonny to think that there was a chance that Clay could feel as abandoned in death, as he had no doubt felt multiple times through his life.

Sonny's breath caught, and he spun away from the clock. Tears threatened. His dam was about ready to break. Before he could clamp down on the rising emotions, a door clicked open and a doctor emerged.

The whole of Bravo stiffened, rising one by one to their feet.

Sonny couldn't breathe. He tried to brace himself emotionally, but he was unravelling, fast.

Davis must have noticed, because she was by his side in a heartbeat, her hand on his arm like an anchor as she steadied them both.

The doctor, thankfully, didn't draw it out. "He's stable," he announced.

And Sonny didn't hear much of what came out of the man's mouth after that – something about blood loss, shock, severely bruised ribs, touch and go. The man's mouth was moving, but all Sonny could do was cling to the fact that Clay was _alive_.

Davis' grip tightened, and her teary eyes found his. "He's going to be okay," she breathed, although it sounded more like a sob.

And Sonny didn't care that the team were all there, he pulled her into a tight embrace and buried his face against her shoulder, allowing the tears he'd been battling to hold at bay to finally flow freely.


	10. Chapter 10

**To everyone who's left kind reviews - thank you so so much. I'm sorry this last chapter took me so long. Life has been hectic, as I'm sure it has been for everyone, in their own way. I hope wherever you are, reading this, that you're safe and coping ok through these horrible times. Hang in there x**

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Jason's back protested the unforgiving angle of the hard plastic chair, but he pushed the discomfort to the back of his mind, determined to keep it there. Leaning forward, his gaze alternated between the scuff lines on the otherwise shiny floor, and the frighteningly pale-faced figure lying unconscious on the bed before him.

Machines beeped – a rhythmic, robotic chorus. Outside the open door, nurses hustled by, occasionally coming in to check charts and vitals.

Jason's gaze drifted to the machine that displayed Clay's heartrate, and his eyes followed the pulsing green line as it spiked with every beat. Not too long ago, that same heart had stopped beating. Would it stop again? Jason felt the need to watch the machine, counting peaks, terrified it might stop as soon as he moved his attention away.

From the opposite side of the bed, Sonny shifted in his equally uncomfortable chair. The Texan's eyes were red-rimmed, and the lines on his face more shadowed than normal. Jason had seen his normally unshakable Bravo Three break down in the waiting room when they'd been told that Clay would be okay. But he wasn't about to call him out on the rare display of raw emotion. They were all feeling it - Sonny's dam had just happened to be the first to crack.

Jason scrubbed a hand over bleary, stinging eyes. They had been told that Clay could wake any moment – or perhaps not for hours. They'd been allowed into the room two at a time, and once they had all taken a turn to lay eyes on their boy, Jason had insisted that he and Sonny take the first watch while the others went to clean up, get some food. Whenever Clay happened to wake up, it was important that he wasn't alone. It was important that the two seats in the room were filled by two of his brothers. It turned Jason's stomach to think that Clay had probably felt alone for a good portion of his ordeal today. None of them couldn't fix that, though God knew each of them desperately wanted to.

Sonny stretched his neck, sighing heavily. His eyes met Jason's across the bed. "He looks so damned young, don't he?"

Jason chewed the inside of his cheek, swallowing back the uncomfortable lump that had taken up residence in his throat. He regarded Clay's face once again, pale behind the oxygen mask, and traced the rise and fall of his uncovered chest – cringing at the angry bruising, cuts, and small marks they'd been told were consistent with electrical burns. He often forgot just how young Clay really was. It was easy to forget, when they were in the thick of things and their boy was kicking some serious ass. But now, seeing him unmoving upon a hospital bed, hooked up to wires and somehow sunk and shrunken against the stark sheets, Jason was reminded once again that Clay was young enough to be his own son.

He exhaled painfully, nodding in response to Sonny's comment.

They all felt a level of responsibility for their 'kid', ever since Clay had joined Bravo. But Jason felt differently towards Clay than any other rookie they'd taken on. Clay was _his_ kid – an unofficial member of the Hayes family. He would never admit it out loud, but sometimes he felt more of a father figure than a team leader to their youngest man. He squeezed his eyes closed briefly, clasping his hands as they hung between his knees. Bile threatened the back of his throat.

Some asshole had tried to take his boy from him today - and had damn near succeeded. It didn't seem enough that the madman was dead. Jason would have preferred him to suffer. Slowly. Preferably in a hell of a lot of pain.

Blackburn had mentioned that Ash Spenser had been taken into custody and was being questioned by NCIS. Probably a good thing, Jason reflected icily, that the older Spenser was under guard. There was no telling what any member of Bravo would do to the man if they were able to get close to him right now. Jason, for his part, was ready to crush the man's skull – and that was without knowing for sure what part he'd played in the events of the day.

Drawing a shuddering breath, Jason cast all thoughts of Clay's father aside. It wouldn't help, right now, to simmer over such a waste of space for a human.

His cell phone buzzed. A glance confirmed that it was Trent, for the third time, checking in. Jason had already sent a group text, providing an update. But he understood that they were all on edge. Hastily he typed a reply, before shoving his phone back into his pocket.

Sonny pushed up from his chair and paced a couple of laps of the room, rubbing his beard. He paused at the end of Clay's bed, regarding his unconscious friend. Eventually he sighed, muttered something incoherent. Giving Clay's covered feet a gentle squeeze, he moved back to his seat.

The plastic chair legs scraped against the floor as the Texan sat down and readjusted.

Clay's hand twitched.

Jason's eyes snagged on the younger man's half-curled fingers, and from the other side of the bed, Sonny did the same. They were both trained to notice even the subtlest movements, and this one hadn't escaped them.

Breath catching, Jason pushed up slowly from his chair.

Clay's brow creased, and his lashes shivered.

"Clay?" Jason said gently, making sure to keep his voice low and calm.

Sonny was pressed against the bed rail on the opposite side, also on his feet, gaze fixed on Clay's face. "C'mon," he muttered hopefully, as if he could coax his friend back to consciousness. "Open your eyes."

Clay groaned, head shifting slightly against his pillow. His eyes squeezed closed more tightly, and the beeping of the heartrate monitor increased.

Jason glanced across to Sonny, eyes lancing off the monitor, before returning to Clay. Gently, he took Clay's hand, careful to avoid the bandaged wrist. "It's okay, buddy," he offered. "You're okay. You're safe. Open your eyes."

Perhaps it was coincidence – or perhaps Clay recognized the voice of his team leader and interpreted the instruction as an order. His eyes cracked open, and there was a heartbeat of groggy blinking - before he startled into a panic.

Breathing heavily and trying unsuccessfully to sit up, Clay pulled at his oxygen mask, gaze darting around wildly.

"Hey, whoa, whoa -" Sonny quickly shifted from hopeful, to desperately attempting to calm Clay down.

Jason felt his heart ache at the genuine fear and disorientation in Clay's wild eyes. He hastily grabbed the younger man by the shoulders as gently as he could, attempting to steady him and stop him from injuring himself further. "Easy," he soothed. "Easy. You're okay. You're safe. We've got you." He repeated it a couple of times, trying desperately to catch and hold Clay's gaze.

Sonny placed a grounding hand on Clay's back, rubbing gentle circles. With his other hand he reached for the call button.

Jason finally noticed Clay's eyes lock onto his. They were impossibly blue, bright with confusion.

Clay's fingers found Jason's shirt sleeve, twisted, and tugged. With his other hand he yanked down his oxygen mask. "Where is he?" came the husky, coarse voice, broken around the edges.

Jason opened his mouth to ask who Clay was referring to – although he suspected it was the man who had abducted him. He began to offer reassurances, but Clay cut in.

"Where's … Brian?" The younger man's gaze darted around the room, landed on Sonny. His brows crinkled, and it took a moment for his eyes to focus on the Texan.

Jason traded a worried glance with Sonny. Toxicology had shown that Clay had been given a decent amount of ketamine while he'd been held captive. Confusion was to be expected until the drug was completely out of his system.

Sadness flickered across Sonny's features, as he watched Clay continue to search for his long-dead friend.

Jason's chest constricted. It was no use telling Clay that he was looking for a ghost. It wouldn't help to calm him down. Instead, he opted for a gentle, "He's not here at the moment, buddy."

Clay's gaze swam back to his team leader. His eyelids were sagging, just as he was sagging more heavily against Jason's hold. There were tears brimming against the blue.

"I thought …" Clay's voice cracked. He looked around once more. A tear broke free. "I thought …"

"Hey, now," Sonny broke in, his own eyes glassy. "You're okay. Just lay back now."

Jason felt Clay sag further. He took the opportunity to slip the oxygen mask back over the younger man's mouth and nose. Carefully, he lowered Clay back down.

Clay blinked heavily, eyes groggily shifting between Jason and Sonny. The heartrate monitor began to slow its frantic beeping back to a more regular rhythm.

A nurse bustled in, all business, glancing between the machine and Clay.

Jason stepped back to allow her in, but kept a firm hold onto his boy's hand. "You're alright, buddy," he repeated. "We got you. You're safe."

On the opposite side of the bed, Sonny held Clay's other hand.

Jason savored the warmth of Clay's fingers against his, determined not to let go.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

_**5 Days Later …**_

Clay barely made eye contact with the two NCIS agents as he gave his statement. He painfully recounted the events that had led to his hospitalization, trying not to lose himself to his emotions as he explained how Ash had left him to die.

Jason's posture had stiffened more and more with every second that ticked by, as the older man stood silently by the window, listening. His expression clouded dangerously when Clay mentioned what the Colombian had accused Ash of, and then once Clay got to the bit about Ash abandoning him to their captor, he cursed viciously, turning and gripping the window sill, knuckles white.

Blackburn stood by the door, arms folded, offering an encouraging nod every time Clay paused or stumbled in his recollection. Once Clay reached the end, he stepped forward, laying a protective hand over the younger man's blanket-covered leg.

Clay was trembling. It had started sometime part way through, worsening with the effort it took to talk for so long. He felt winded and slightly light-headed, heart drumming against bruised ribs. He felt grateful when Blackburn took over.

"If that will be sufficient …?" Bravo's commander addressed the two agents. He left the remainder of the sentence unsaid, choosing instead to glance pointedly at the heartrate monitor by Clay's bed and the vitals displayed there.

The two agents - a hard-faced man, and a woman with gold-rimmed glasses - took the hint and thankfully didn't argue. The man, Agent Wilson, flipped his notepad closed and thanked Clay for his time. The woman, Agent Green, assured Clay that his statement was a big help, and that they would be in contact.

"Rest up," Agent Wilson said, by way of a goodbye.

Clay nodded shakily. He watched as they exited the room, pulling the door closed behind them. His whole body ached from the experience.

"Let's get you laying back down," Blackburn suggested hastily, as if reading Clay's mind.

Clay was grateful to sink into his pillow and have the head of the bed lowered again. He'd insisted on sitting up for the interview. It turned out his body hated him for it.

Jason turned from the window, eyes stormy. He looked between Clay and Blackburn, opening his mouth as if to say something.

Clay didn't miss the look Blackburn shot across the room.

Jason slammed his mouth closed, biting down hard on his lip. His breath came heavily in and out of his nose. He folded his arms tightly across his chest, as if trying to pin them there to stop himself from punching something.

Clay understood. He'd expected this type of reaction. He'd tried to mentally prepare for it from the moment he'd asked Jason and Blackburn to be in the room with him while he gave his statement. He was grateful for Blackburn's strong and steady presence. It was grounding.

Drawing a calming breath, Clay tracked his team leader's agitated movements. "Jason?" He asked, voice shaking more than he would have liked.

Jason blew out a breath, unfolded his arms and leaned against the foot of the bed. His eyes met Clay's. They were full of raw emotion – rage, pain, sadness.

"Can I talk to you a moment?" Clay asked, eyes darting briefly to Blackburn. "Before the rest of the guys come in?" He could tell that Jason was a live wire, coiled tight and ready to explode.

Blackburn provided the answer, squeezing Clay's shoulder reassuringly before moving towards the door. "I'll let them know to give you a moment."

Clay nodded his thanks, once again grateful for Blackburn's silent but steady support.

Once their commander was out of the room, Jason's posture seemed to crumple a little. He hung his head, hands still braced against the end of the bed. Clay said nothing as Jason composed himself. Eventually, he came to sit by the bedside, plopping himself down on the plastic chair by the small side table.

Clay fiddled with the edge of his blanket, unsure exactly how to say what he wanted to say.

Jason got in first. "This is the part where you tell me I can't kill your father, isn't it?"

Clay released an unsteady breath. Exhaustion lapped at him. He wasn't up for a fight. He hoped that Jason might recognize that. Licking dry lips, he found and held the older man's gaze, searching it for understanding.

Jason's eyes were glassy, his jaw set.

"Promise me," Clay said quietly, a small amount of desperation lining his tone.

Jason let out a huff that may have been half laugh, half sob. He shook his head, anger once more sparking behind his eyes.

"Promise me," Clay repeated, heart pounding. "Promise me, if you ever see him again, you wont go after him."

Jason broke eye contact, bit his lip. He exhaled heavily, before pinning Clay with a weighty look. "The fucking asshole left you for _dead_, Clay."

Clay felt his eyes prick. He knew. He hadn't forgotten.

"He left you alone," Jason continued, speaking slowly and emphasizing each word. "_To_ _die_."

Clay tried to ignore the constriction in his chest. He needed Jason to understand how important this was to him. "Please," he said again. "I need you, and the rest of the guys, to stay the hell away from Ash. Promise me you'll tell the others that what I want." His words were slightly breathless. "_Please_."

Jason's expression remained fiery, but at the sound of Clay's exhaustion, some of the anger left him and he reached out to place a steadying hand on Clay's arm.

Clay was still trembling. The warm weight of Jason's hand was welcome. He closed his eyes briefly.

After a few moments, Jason spoke up again. "Why are you worried about protecting him? After everything he's done to you."

Clay cracked open his eyes. He sighed heavily, some of the constriction in his chest lifting. "I'm not protecting him," he answered quietly, shaking his head. His gaze found Jason's. "I'm protecting you. And the rest of the guys."

Jason held his gaze, didn't reply.

"My father is a worthless piece of shit," Clay stated, eyes pricking with tears. "He's a horrible human being, and I have no doubt he'll pay for the choices he's made."

"His choices nearly cost you your life," Jason countered. "I don't take that lightly. The rest of the guys don't take that lightly."

"And you have no idea how much I appreciate that," Clay pressed, voice cracking and emotion threatening to overwhelm him. "But I can't let any of you go after him." His throat felt painfully tight. "He's not worth it. He's not worth any of you hanging for. You – you all mean too much to me."

Jason's own eyes were glassy. He chewed over Clay's words for a few moments.

Clay braced for the next argument, but thankfully, it didn't come.

Jason squeezed gently against Clay's arm. It was obvious he didn't like the request, but a splinter of understanding had emerged in his expression. Tiredly, he scrubbed a hand over his eyes, let it linger over his mouth. After another heartbeat or two, he nodded slowly in silent resignation.

Clay felt his tense muscles loosen. He breathed an internal sigh of relief.

They sat in silence for a while, each briefly lost in their own thoughts.

Clay broke the silence. "You know," he said softly, voice still unsteady. "I thought I didn't want to come back."

The sudden admission caught Jason off guard. He stiffened in his seat.

Clay's eyes were still pricking with tears. One rolled free, tracing a trail down his cheek and into the pillow. "But I was wrong."

He thought back to his conversation with Brian on the beach. Even knowing it was most likely a dream, Clay couldn't help but feel like his old friend had helped to direct him, nudging him gently back to the land of the living.

"Well," Jason replied, drawing a deep breath and pulling himself straighter in his seat. "We're damn glad you found your way back to us." His lip twitched into a whisper of a smile, though his eyes remained haunted.

Clay allowed the smile to echo across his own lips. "Yeah," he agreed, releasing a shaky breath. "Me too."

And he meant it.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Clay watched his brothers file out of his hospital room. Jason and Blackburn would fill them in on the interview later – as well as Clay's request. None of them had probed or pushed Clay for information, though Clay could feel their tense curiosity. The details of his abduction wouldn't be kept secret, but Clay couldn't face reliving it once again. And so it wasn't mentioned, for now.

Sonny lingered a moment in the doorway.

"So, do we have a date?" The Texan asked, lifting a brow. "I'll come by here tomorrow and we can watch that game we missed?"

Clay nodded tiredly, smiled. "It's a date."

Sonny's expression remained serious. "No standing me up this time, right, Blondilocks?"

Davis punched him lightly in the shoulder from where she stood beside him. "Too soon," she hissed, throwing him a light glare.

Sonny threw up his hands. He winked at Clay, before ducking out into the corridor.

Clay pulled a weary finger sign, but his reflexes were still slow, and his best friend missed the gesture.

Davis gave a tight smile. "Get some rest," she suggested. "We'll see you soon." She followed Sonny out.

Jason was the last to leave. He lingered, as if hesitant to go. "Just call if you need anything," he said, chewing his lip. "You know one of us will be here in a heartbeat, if you need us."

Clay smiled. He knew. "Thanks dad," he murmured, eyes drooping.

Jason tapped the doorframe, missing Clay's response. Nodded. "Right," he said, squeezing a smile. After another moment of lingering, he reluctantly ducked out into the corridor, following the others, and the room was empty once again.

Clay stared towards the doorway. His eyelids were impossibly heavy. The emotional and physical toll of giving his statement had completely taken it out of him. His whole body ached.

As if on cue, a nurse entered and checked his vitals. She was old, with a kind face. Clay imagined she was someone's friendly grandmother, and for a moment, his heart ached – remembering the kind face and eyes of the woman who had raised him.

The nurse offered him some painkillers, and tucked him in. She dimmed the lights on her way out, announcing that she would be back again soon.

Clay settled in to sleep.

As he was drifting off, a thought struck him. All his life he'd felt like he was on a ship in a wild storm. Just one more fight, one more wave, and perhaps the ocean would calm. But maybe he'd been looking at it wrong all this time. His life wasn't one big storm – every day was full of little storms, broken up by moments of smooth sailing and clear skies. And through the turbulent times, he realized, his brothers were most definitely his life raft. He was, and always would be, incredibly grateful for that.

Perhaps there was no end goal of a glorious, idyllic sea, no matter how hard he tried. That wasn't the nature of the ocean, after all.

"You've finally found your sea legs, sailor."

Brian's familiar voice echoed through his thoughts, as he hovered just above dreams.

Clay's lip twitched into a faint smile.

He missed his old friend's wisdom. It warmed his heart to think that Brian was still, in some way, watching over him.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

**I had wanted to put so much more time into this chapter, but my brain is mush lately and the inspiration to write has evaporated. I just wanted to get this story wrapped up to not have it hanging over me. I'm taking a break from writing for a while. Thankfully there's lots of fics I need to catch up on! Take care everyone, and thanks for sticking with me through this story (that was a pain in the backside to write lol) :) x**


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